What Price Humanity?
by walkertxkitty
Summary: After a tristate bust goes bad, Walker stumbles upon a human trafficking ring with connections to Dallas high society. UPDATED Chapter 21! Trivette tracks down some leads while doctors struggle to save Walker's life.
1. Poison Waters

**Author's Notes:** This story takes place during "_Trust No One_" (February 1995) when Trivette was reassigned to desk work pending completion of an investigation regarding his involvement in the disappearance of five million dollars from thirty million in counterfeit bills.

Most geographical places mentioned are real but I've played with them a bit in terms of population for the sake of the story. My apologies to any citizens of Dalhart, Texas and Clayton, New Mexico who may be reading.

The town of Broken Springs, New Mexico does not exist (at least, not in the area of northeastern New Mexico in which Ranger Walker is traveling).

"The prisoner" (I have reasons for not giving him a name just yet) is my personal creation. All other characters belong to the creators of Walker, Texas Ranger and I am just borrowing them for my personal entertainment. This is my first fan-fic and I've never managed to view the entire series so I hope I can be forgiven any inconsistencies. It got away from me, actually. I thought it would be a one-shot short story but it's taken on a life of its own.

**What Price Humanity?**

**Chapter 1 – Poisoned Waters**

_Definitely not at my best today_, Walker thought as he guided the Dodge Ram pick-up truck down yet another mile of deserted county road. B Company hadn't gotten around to assigning him another partner (and he honestly hoped they never did since he still believed Jimmy could be cleared if enough time for investigation were allowed) and so he'd had to go on this bust alone. It had been a cooperative effort involving agencies from three states --- Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico --- in an effort to shut down a major drug smuggling operation.

Walker sensed when it began sleeting that the bust would be a rough one and he'd been right. The weather in Dallas generally remained mild this time of year and he hadn't thought about a heavier jacket. They'd been hunkered down in their positions just outside an old farmstead for almost two hours when the temperature dropped enough to turn the sleet into proper snow. He'd pulled the collar of the fleece jacket up around his neck and adjusted his hat so that most of the accumulation would slide off the brim and not down his back.

He'd still gotten soaked and then had to pursue smugglers for an additional hour through muddy adobe flats with the wind cutting through his wet clothes. If Trivette had been there for back-up, Walker might have gotten them both but he'd only managed to take down the larger and slower of the two. The other had gotten away. The head of the sting operation hadn't wanted to risk transportation of the prisoner without a partner riding shotgun, but Walker had finally argued him out of it. The prisoner, a large man of mixed ancestry, had refused to answer any questions and would either growl or make odd threatening gestures with his hands when addressed. He was secured in the bed of Walker's truck, shackled to the roll bars.

The snowfall increased and Walker turned the wind shield wipers up to their highest setting. He supposed, given the circumstances, he ought to stop and bring the prisoner inside the cab. The man might be a brute and a lawbreaker both but Walker wasn't going to let him freeze to death. He tried recalling the name of the next major city and remembered that the map showed only plains and nearly abandoned former mining towns. They hadn't even crossed back into Texas yet. However, there was a rest stop and picnic shelter before the state line. He'd bring the prisoner inside there.

The Ranger brought up his gloved fist (at least he'd remembered those) and rapped on the truck's rear window to get the man's attention before sliding it open so he could speak to him. The big man peered at him from beneath a horse blanket he had apparently found in the pick-up bed. "We'll be stopping at a place called Sierra Grande shortly. It's not much, just a rest stop, but if you're good, I'll bring you in out of the cold then." Walker flashed a charming, lopsided smile but a steely glint in his wise brown eyes told anyone who cared to know he meant business. "And if you're bad, I'll truss you up like a yearling calf, toss you in back, and haul you all the way to Dallas like that. Got it?"

His prisoner shrugged the blanket back up over his head and turned his back. The handcuffs rattled as he made the same hand gestures he had since he'd been arrested. Walker wished he knew whether the gestures were meant to be threatening or something more. At times, he thought some of them resembled American Sign Language but he had attained some proficiency in it and the signs the prisoner made --- if that's what they were at all --- bore little resemblance to even standard finger signs. Well, that was for Alex to figure out. It had been one of the reasons he'd argued the coordinator into allowing him to transport this particular prisoner. Alex had access to all sorts of people with unusual backgrounds, any one of whom might be able to translate if the hand signs were, in fact, a language. Walker fiddled with the radio until he dialed in an AM country station coming in out of Oklahoma and turned it up. Maybe a few songs would lift the weariness he felt or at least make the drive seem less long.

The sign indicating the turn-off to Sierra Grande had faded and, like most of the markers on these county roads and old US highways, had been used for target practice. It leaned crazily to one side and wobbled in the wind but blown snow had not yet obscured the lettering. Had he not consulted the map, he would have missed the turn entirely. Walker pulled up to the shelter, sighing in relief.

The sound of the wind, which could not be completely drowned out by the songs on the radio, had given him a headache. He leaned forward, draped his arms across the steering wheel, pillowed his head on them, and closed his eyes. His eyes felt like someone had thrown sand into them and he knew he'd been driving too long. Sighing, he sat up, dug the map out of the glove compartment, and took another look at the route to Dallas.

"Damn!" Nothing had changed. The nearest town was Clayton, still in New Mexico, and judging by the map it would be too small to offer anything more than basic amenities. He wouldn't find a secure jail and a decent hotel until US 87 dumped onto I-40 at Vega and then headed east into Amarillo, a distance of almost one hundred and fifty miles. It simply couldn't be helped and, Walker rationalized, he'd been on stake-outs before which were no less long or tiring. This rest stop, at least, had facilities and running water. He'd splash some water on his face, have a long drink to ease the dryness in his throat, and press on.

It took more effort than it should have to open the driver's side door and step out into the storm. Walker's boots crunched and squeaked across the snow as he made his way to the truck bed. The prisoner, hunched over under the blanket as far as the handcuffs would allow, straightened and cocked his head toward the sound. So he can at least hear, Walker noted, though he hasn't said a single word. _That, in all probability, eliminated the chance that those hand gestures were language._ He'd have to keep a careful eye on this one…maybe.

When Walker fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the chain binding the prisoner to the roll bar, the man renewed the frantic gestures. If the hand movements were meant as threatening, Walker reflected, they didn't match any martial arts forms with which he was familiar. _In most forms, your opponent would be struggling to get those hands in a defensive posture; this man's hands remained in his lap_. The Ranger yanked on the chain, not hard but enough to get the man's attention and still his struggling.

"That'll be enough of that. Understand me?" He was surprised when the prisoner obeyed and nodded affirmation. The man didn't look nearly as brutish when he wasn't gesturing and growling. "Now, I'm gonna let you down from here so that you can stretch your legs. If you try to escape or make one wrong move, I'll shoot you. Nod if you understand." To his surprise, the prisoner nodded again.

Walker grasped his arm and helped him down over the tailgate of the truck. The prisoner's dark eyes seemed to shine with gratitude for this basic human consideration. A smile transformed his face until he more resembled a baby than a criminal. _What the…perhaps the man was simple?_ Walker had known one or two children like that growing up on the reservation. If so, what use was the man to a major drug smuggling operation? "I just can't figure you out," he said, shaking his head and regretted the movement almost instantly. He really was too tired to be thinking about this and wished for Trivette's clever mind to help him out. _Trivette could find almost anything given a computer and enough time. _

"I need a drink of water," Walker explained, accompanying his words with rough miming. "I'll be right back. You'll stay here?" Another nod. Walker opened the driver's side door and reached in to recheck the map. It still showed the same distance to Amarillo with towns few and far between. He had enough fuel to make it as far as Dalhart, Texas but it might be a while before they passed through a town with an open grocery or convenience store. Pulling a canteen from behind the front seat, Walker strode up to the spigot.

A guttural roar and the clattering of chains startled him as he bent his head to take a drink. If he hadn't already been tired, cold, and wet he probably could have avoided the prisoner's attack entirely. As it was the man had knocked the ranger away from the spigot and sent him sprawling into the snow covered prairie grass. He rolled up into a defensive position, fists clenched, and aimed a sweep kick in the last known direction of his attacker. The man hadn't moved, which briefly struck Walker as odd, and he took the guy down cleanly. He stood up, took a few deep breaths to clear his head.

"What'd you go and do that for? I told you not to," Walker said conversationally as he looked at the prone prisoner. He pulled the man to his feet and this time he cuffed him from behind and then fed the chains through that. _The brute couldn't get away now if he tried. He looked at the leaden sky with snow still falling steadily. Nope, he couldn't toss the prisoner in the back as he'd threatened for he would surely freeze to death_. "Luckily, I'm in a forgiving mood. Get in the truck and stay there." He frog marched the prisoner around the nose of the Ram, tore open the door, and shoved him into the passenger's seat. "Don't touch anything either. I'd be well with in my rights to shoot you, you know. Now, I'm going to get a drink and then we're getting out of here."

The man's hands were still making those strange gestures and his face had a pleading quality to it. Walker wondered what the guy knew that he didn't; he had the distinct feeling he'd missed something, something important. The prisoner's behavior was too erratic to be justified as random and therefore constituted a pattern. Just what the pattern was, Walker couldn't figure out right now. He needed a warm bed, dry clothes, hot food, and sleep. He was still thirsty; at least he could remedy that particular need now.

Walker drank deeply; the water was cold and clear, just what he needed to restore some of his usual acuity. He filled the canteen, got back in the truck, and offered it to the prisoner. The man must have been thirsty as well, but he turned his head away and refused to drink any of it.

The storm had worsened to near white-out conditions by the time he pulled out of the rest stop. Blowing and drifting snow had obscured the road signs and erased any tire tracks. Suddenly confused, Walker wondered in which direction he should be driving. Resolutely, he turned the truck back onto the state highway in the direction he thought would lead to Amarillo, safety, and rest.

As the truck wallowed its way down the highway, the temperature continued to drop. Walker shivered, turned it up as high as it would go, and then thumped it in frustration when nothing seemed to penetrate the cold inside the cab. The heater on the Ram didn't work as well as it could have. "Well, it's not like I often need the heater in Dallas!" he snapped irritably when the prisoner looked at him quizzically. He'd taken to addressing random comments to the prisoner without expecting him to answer. Half the time he couldn't even be certain if he had spoken the words aloud or not, he was so tired.

Movement roused Walker from a daze. Someone was trying to tuck a blanket around him. "Alex?" he muttered blearily. _No, that wasn't right. Alex was (hopefully) safe in Dallas and he was stuck on a state highway in the middle of nowhere transporting a prisoner strangely silent prisoner who communicated only in growls and gestures_. He shook his head to clear the muddled thoughts. The headache was still with him and the resulting wave of nausea let him know that had been a mistake. Someone was still trying to tuck the blanket around him, to stop the shivering. The prisoner's face showed distress and concern as he concentrated but since his hands were now cuffed behind his back he wasn't making much progress.

"Nah, you keep it. I've got a jacket." Walker told the big man. "See? Jacket." He spoke the words slowly and plucked at the jacket collar to indicate the item to which he was referring. That seemed to satisfy the poor brute but he kept casting worried looks at the ranger and shaking his head. He still refused to drink any of the water out of the canteen though he must be awfully thirsty by now. Walker regretted having trussed the prisoner up so tightly and wondered if, hard as his head was pounding, his judgment had been impaired. Something, a vague memory, lingered just beyond reach of recall. Could it have been possible the prisoner had perceived a threat of some sort and Walker had badly misjudged the man's actions? He simply couldn't reconcile the prisoner's concern for his welfare with the man who had jumped him. What had he missed?

"Tell you what…when we reach the next town, I'll top off the gas tank and we'll grab something to eat. I'll cuff you in a more comfortable position then. But you can't jump me again, understand?" Again, that slow nod. "I mean it. Don't make me chase you down because if I have to do it again, you're going to be in a lot of trouble." He used the same vocal tone he'd used successfully with recalcitrant juvenile delinquents. Privately, he hoped he wouldn't actually have to chase the big man again because he frankly doubted, sleep deprived and chilled as he was, that he could catch him again.

As darkness fell, the headlights on the truck illuminated a highway marker, miraculously clear of snow, which stated they were on the outskirts of Broken Springs, New Mexico. Walker couldn't recall seeing that specific town along the route but that didn't mean anything. There were hundreds of these little almost-ghost towns hidden among the prairie grass and tucked into the foothills of the Sangre De Cristos mountain range and not all of them were on a map. This one wasn't likely to be an exception. A short while later, the blackness of the storm was broken by a feeble whitish glow on the horizon which gradually resolved itself into a single gas station, a small post office…and not much else.

Walker coasted the Dodge Ram into the pumps; he stared at the gas gauge with its needle sitting on "empty" and frowned. How could he have misjudged the amount of fuel left in the gas tank? If he'd tried to make it across the state line without stopping…. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, "this should get us to Amarillo before tomorrow morning." He got out of the cab. The wind swept under the portico of the gas station and tore at him like a knife but Walker was sweating. He unbuttoned his jacket and loosened his shirt collar as he filled the tank. He hung the nozzle back in its cradle and then opened the passenger's door. "I'll take off the chain and cuff your hands up front," he explained, "but you can't leave and you have to get right back in the truck, deal?" A more enthusiastic nod, accompanied by a smile, and the prisoner did as asked.

With his hands in front of him once more the fingers once more made gestures, slowly while the man kept studying Walker's face as though he expected to see some sign of comprehension. "I can't understand you," Walker exclaimed, exasperated. "If that's a language, I don't know it." Sighing, the prisoner rolled his eyes in the direction of Walker's canteen and pointed.

"You're thirsty?" He offered the canteen. A frantic head shake from the prisoner, and he turned his head aside to indicate he would not drink. "I don't know what you want!" He tilted the canteen back and drank deeply from it. Walker couldn't remember when he'd been so thirsty, short of when he'd been stationed in Viet Nam. _There'd been water a-plenty, but…_the memory hovered in his mind, once more short of recall. "I'll be right back. Stay put."

Walker went inside, picked up the a few bottles of water, grabbed something for them to eat, and took his purchases to the counter. The elderly clerk tried to persuade him to stay the night in town once he found out about Walker's intention to keep going. "These storms coming in off the Sangre de Christos are nasty," he said as he rang up the purchases. "There's no hotel in town but either I or the postmaster could put you up until the storm dies down. 'sides, you look a mite the worse for wear, young fella."

"Thanks all the same, but I can't," Walker replied. "I've got a prisoner to transport and you folks don't have a jail."

"Safe trip, then," the clerk replied. "Turn back if you can't get through or you find yourself feeling poorly. The offer stands."

He thanked the man again and headed back to the truck. The lights of the town quickly faded away and soon the Dodge's headlights were the only illumination in the blanketing darkness. Walker passed one of the water bottles to his prisoner. "Figured you might want this, since you won't drink mine. Wish I knew your reasons." The big man stared at the water bottle, uncapped it, and made a drinking gesture at Walker. "No, that's yours. I have my own. Drink." He mimicked the gesture the brute had just demonstrated and took a swallow from the canteen.

They rode in silence for a while. Walker had tried listening to the radio but the even the country music station sounded tinny and hurt his head. "You hungry? There's some food there." The prisoner had opened a bag of jerky and had tried offering to share it with him. Walker's stomach turned over uneasily and he shook his head. "You go ahead and eat. I…I'm not feelin' so great."

Walker's teeth chattered and his hands shook as he tried to keep the truck on the road. His world shrank until it consisted only of heat alternating with cold. He simply wanted to sleep until his body decided on one or the other. A hand batted gently but insistently at him. "Alex? Alex, what's happening to me?" No, it couldn't be Alex. She was an assistant district attorney, not a Texas Ranger, and she definitely didn't accompany him on multi-state busts. He felt inexplicably let down; someone else should have been here with him, someone he trusted. That someone should have had his back, could have sorted all this out for him.

"Gotta…pull over." He knew there were reasons he shouldn't leave the vehicle unattended but his stomach didn't care. The truck skidded to a halt. Walker fumbled with the door. He jumped out, leaving the keys in the ignition, leaned against the hood of the vehicle and was sick. The ranger still felt decidedly unwell when he was able to climb back inside the pick-up truck and put the vehicle back on the road.

Time and direction sense dissolved entirely. He lost count of how many times he stopped, forced himself to get back behind the wheel, and doggedly pressed on. The last time it happened, he had actually had to crawl back into the truck. A worried face peered down at him but that didn't concern Walker. It wasn't any of the faces he looked for to get him out of trouble and so it didn't matter.

The truck slowed, bouncing and jerking as it wandered off the shoulder of the road. "Sorry," he muttered, slumping forward, "I don't think…I can drive any more." Those were his last conscious thoughts as the darkness he'd been fighting for so many miles closed in around his senses. The Dodge, its momentum largely absorbed by passage through the tall prairie grasses, came to rest when it impacted with a lone cottonwood tree. Its tail lights shone through the blowing snow, beckoning.


	2. Comes the Dawn

**Author's Notes**: The hand signs used by John Quail are based upon a Native American sign language found among the Pueblo tribes, specifically Keresan Pueblo Indian Sign Language. More information about it can be found at http/ I've taken some liberties with the history of the tribes and evolution of the language for the story's sake.

An online Navajo-English translator has been used. I bear no responsibility for inexact translations. They're simply there to lend a bit of reality to the story.

A clarification: In the previous chapter Walker cuffed John Quail more comfortably. For the sake of the story, I'm assuming that in his state of confusion he'd have left more play in the cuffs than usual and made it possible for John to carry him to the Mustang Talker ranch.

Kathy Mustang Talker and the prisoner, now named John Quail, are my intellectual property. Both are loose composites of several real-life friends with similar disabilities. All other characters belong to the creators of Walker, Texas Ranger and I am just borrowing them for my personal entertainment. This is my first fan-fic and I've never managed to view the entire series so I hope I can be forgiven any inconsistencies.

Reviews and comments welcome.

**Chapter 2 – Comes the Dawn**

"_After winter comes the summer. After night comes the dawn. And after every storm, there comes clear, open skies." _ ----- Samuel Rutherford

Sangre De Cristo foothills, Mustang Talker Ranch

Kathy needed no alarm to wake her; she'd been attuned to the rhythm and needs of the ranch ever since she could remember. A slow riser, she liked to lay quietly in her bed beneath the quilts savoring sensations as each part of her body came awake. This gave her a general "feel" for the way the day would go. On good days, aches and pains were minimal and the skies were clear. On bad days, her entire being sang with a discordant symphony of hurts and she could count on snow or thunderstorms. Some days she couldn't get up at all and would call a neighbor to take care of the livestock. She had only three, fellow ranchers who understood her predicament. Their wives knew she lived alone and would send a casserole or stew and cornbread with their husbands to tide Kathy over until she could get around again. Fortunately, those days were few and far between.

Today fell somewhere between the two extremes. Her body twinged and throbbed but didn't hurt enough to prevent her from rising. She cracked a hazel eye open, sat up, and peered around the bedroom. Her breath came and went in white clouds; that meant power failure and she'd have to add starting the generator to her list of chores this morning. "Damnit!"

The window on the outside wall showed a false dawn and swirling snowflakes. She could hear cattle lowing; they had probably moved down out of the high pastures of their own volition and were waiting at the main corral gate to be let in and fed. She'd slept later than she'd intended, then, or the storm had been worse than anticipated. The herd usually didn't come down onto the ranch until she'd put their hay in the bins and called them.

"Better get a move on." Kathy swung her legs over the side of the bed, shrugged out of her nightgown, and grabbed the clothes she'd laid out the night before: Sturdy denim split skirt, a russet turtleneck, and a crimson-checked long sleeved flannel shirt. It took longest to pull on her boots; it always did and she muttered a stream of curses directed at her disabilities and the delay as she yanked them on at last and stumped out into the kitchen.

The fire in the wood stove had been banked for the evening when she went to bed but the sullen coals could be coaxed back into a blaze with relative ease. With the power out, she'd need to get that going quickly before the pipes froze. With difficulty, Kathy knelt, reached for the kindling in the basket beside the stove, and carefully constructed a teepee over the coals. A couple of pumps on the bellows and tendrils of flame licked upwards into the kindling. She started with smaller splits, waiting each time until the fire had stabilized to add larger chunks. At last, satisfied, she straightened. The stove was beginning to dissipate the cold which had permeated the house but it had taken the last of the firewood and kindling. Mentally, she added that to her list of chores as well. Kathy didn't know if she could lift the axe this morning, but McAllister would be sure to check on her by afternoon. She could ask him then to split some of the wood and haul it in for her if she couldn't do it herself.

She rummaged around under the kitchen counters looking for the blue and white coffee pot she used on camp-outs and when she supervised cattle round-ups. She found what she was looking for in a wooden box under the sink which she'd packed up and labeled "camping gear" last summer. "Always in the last place you look." _Of course it is. Why would anyone keep looking for something if they'd already found it?_ "I really need that coffee," she muttered.

A few drops of water and nothing more came out of the faucet when she turned the handle. _Oh, right. Power's out_. Fortunately, the big stone sink had had a hand pump before it had been converted to modern plumbing. Kathy remembered how hard she'd argued with the contractors about leaving those things intact. She set the coffee pot in the sink beneath the spigot, grabbed the handle on the pump, and worked it vigorously. The thing groaned alarmingly in protest but she sighed in relief as the water flow changed from a spurt to a trickle to a steady flow. When the coffee pot filled, she plunked it on the stove top.

She had already pulled on her fleece lined leather jacket and gloves when a sound outside stopped her in her tracks. The dogs had begun to bark, a harsh non-stop baying which signaled a human intruder or predators among the cattle. Kathy wrapped the shawl around her head and grabbed her .22 rifle. Once off the verandah, the wind whipped about her like a slap in the face. She listened but the dogs had stopped barking. "Probably chased off whatever was bothering them," she rationalized and headed toward the barn.

The water troughs in the barn had frozen over. She had to break up the ice with a garden hoe before she could add fresh water and the barn pumps weren't as cooperative as the one in the kitchen had been. Kathy was sweating freely by the time she had taken care of that particular chore. The horses acted as though the cold weather had given them an additional boost of energy. They frisked, shoved, and nipped at one another as she forked hay into the manger and measured out their feed. "Ouch! Quit that!" The large strawberry roan gelding, the one she usually road around the ranch, had been searching her pockets and gotten too enthusiastic. She slapped him affectionately on the shoulder and forced him to move off. "I don't have anything for you today. There, finished!"

She tossed a final forkful of hay and stopped in her tracks. Crunching snow and gravel indicated someone approaching…and she wasn't expecting anyone this early. She caught a glimpse of someone walking up into the barn yard before the snow once more obscured her view. The manner in which the figure hunched against the wind suggested that the person was carrying something. _Cattle thieves!_ The wind kicked up again, swallowing the figure. Kathy quickly estimated her potential opponent's position, grabbed up her rifle, and aimed; she didn't want to kill, but she didn't want this one getting away. _I'm tired of these cattle thieves coming down here and taking what I've worked so hard to raise._ "Stop it right there or I'll shoot!" The person --- she could see now that it was a tall, broad shouldered man in an orange jumpsuit --- continued toward her. There was a clicking sound as she cocked the rifle. The man heard it and froze. She motioned with the muzzle of the rifle to the blanket wrapped bundle he carried. "Put it down slowly, back away, and keep your hands where I can see them."

Keeping her rifle trained on him, Kathy edged forward to take a closer look. Tall and hulking, the man had the lean moon-faced features shared by many of the Pueblo peoples and those of mixed ancestry. His long, coarse black hair had been pulled back into a beaded thong; it was the single bit of ornamentation to his otherwise plain clothing. She blinked in surprise; he _was_ wearing a prison jumpsuit. _An escaped prisoner? But where on earth would he have come from and what's he doing here?_ _Well, if he's one of the Diné, he ought to understand the language._

"Ta-akwai-i," she commanded, "Ye-tsan bihl-la di." _Stop. Put it down._

His face twisted up in dismay but the man gently laid aside his burden. Kathy saw that he had been carrying another man wrapped in the blanket. _Unconscious? Sleeping? Or dead?_ _This is getting weirder by the minute. _ She spoke again in Navajo: "Beh-bih-ke-as-chinigh? Bin-din-ne-dey?" _What happened? Was it an accident?_

She uncocked the rifle and then slammed the safety back into place. "I'm going to put the gun down so I can take a look at your friend. Okay?" she said in English. _That's useful. My command of the Diné language is quite rusty._ The man nodded. Keeping a wary eye on the big man, she knelt to examine the man on the ground. Awkwardly wrapped in an old horse blanket, he had a lean wiry frame with toned muscles and an untidy thatch of sandy shoulder length hair. His clothes, she discovered, were soaked through. Kathy wondered what on earth had possessed the man to wear only a light jacket in this weather. He didn't wake when she gently probed for injuries. She found a few small bruises and lacerations around the face, as though it had impacted with something, and his hands were scraped. _Could've been a car accident, but if that's so where is the vehicle? No broken bones, no bruising to indicate internal damage, and no snakebite. Helluva fever, though, and he looks like he's plum exhausted._ _Hey, what's this? _Kathy stared at the small silver star within a circle which was pinned to the right breast of his jacket. _A lawman? Well, that explains the handcuffs and the prison jumpsuit. Where would they have been coming from?_ _And what will _I _do with them?_ _I can't call anyone since the phones are out._

The presence of the badge decided her. "Carry him into the house," she said in English. "We need to get him warm and dry before anything else can be done for him." She took off her shawl and wrapped it around the lawman. As they struggled to get him up, the man roused, muttering irritably, and batted them both away. He didn't get very far before collapsing. "You have to let us help you," she said, exasperated, in the same no-nonsense tone she used on stubborn horses. "You're in too bad a shape to make it on your own so stop struggling and let him carry you." To the prisoner, she said, "I need to finish feeding my livestock. Take him up to the house and put him on the couch. Stay put till I get back and don't touch anything!"

For the first time he spoke, a light but rusty baritone as though he seldom used his voice or hadn't spoken in a long time. The English had a curious inflection to it. He flashed her a wry smile. "I'm getting tired of being told that."


	3. Big Bad John

**Author's notes: **As my command of the Navajo language is rather limited and the online dictionary is a small one, it will be assumed for this chapter that John Quail and Kathy Mustang Talker are conversing in a mixture of Navajo and hand sign. Her responses to Walker are in English.

"Big Bad John" as a song is based on an American folk tale popular among miners in the West. The version I have used here is sung by Johnny Cash and can be found at http/ about the Navajo people and their beliefs is partially based upon information I found here: A small portion comes from personal experience gotten growing up in the area. The remainder is artistic license with no offense intended.

A note on the layout of the home: it's a ranch style log house with a verandah out front leading to a mud room (a place for jackets, shoes, outdoor tools, etc.). The living, dining, and kitchen areas are essentially the same room with a breakfast bar dividing the kitchen from the living and dining areas. A single hall off the kitchen leads to living quarters.

Kathy Mustang Talker and John Quail are my intellectual property. Both are loose composites of several real-life friends with similar disabilities. All other characters belong to the creators of Walker, Texas Ranger and I am just borrowing them for my personal entertainment. This is my first fan-fic and I've never managed to view the entire series so I hope I can be forgiven any inconsistencies.

**Chapter 3 - Big Bad John**

**o/ **"_Nobody seemed to know where John called home_

_He just drifted into town and stayed all alone._

_He didn't say much, kind of quiet and shy_

_And if you spoke at all, you'd just said hi to Big John._

_Somebody said he came from New Orleans,_

_Where he got into a fight over a Cajun Queen._

_And a crash and a blow from a huge right hand,_

_sent a Louisiana fella to the promise land._" **o/**

-----"Big Bad John" sung by Johnny Cash

The cows were, as Kathy suspected they would be, standing at the corral gate waiting to be let into the paddock. She counted each as it came through the gate and came up to feed. _One, two, three…seventeen, eighteen, nine--- no, I counted that one twice… _They seemed in no more gentle a mood than the horses had been since they pushed and shoved trying to beat one another to the troughs. Their bellicose bawling rang out through the icy air and the constant milling made them difficult to count accurately. _Of course, the _one _time I need to get back to the house quickly, the damned things won't hold still_…._ forty-eight, forty-nine... Crap! Three missing, including a yearling calf. No time to chase them down and no way to call the sheriff._ She doubted, considering which ones were missing, that they'd been separated from the herd or holed up in the foothills. _Thieves, it's always thieves._

She finished her assessment of the herd: they'd obviously traveled quite a distance either in or barely ahead of the storm; their shaggy coats were layered with snow and melting ice. Kathy made certain none of them had frozen their muzzles to the ground and then barred the corral gate. _They'll be safe in the paddock. No point in turning them back out in this storm._ _It's a bad one._ She sighed wearily and trudged through ankle-deep snow to the barn where she hung up the feed buckets. _Time to deal with whatever I find up at the ranch house…_

She could hear someone muttering incoherently and smelled the scent of illness the moment she stepped inside. After she had hung up her jacket in the mud room, she limped into the living room of the home. "Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin?" she called softly. _All is well?_

The prisoner shot up from where he'd been sitting on the floor It looked as though he'd been in a skirmish and gotten the worst of it. She would have sworn the coverall hadn't been torn when she left. "Do-ya-sho-da," he responded, "Ni-dah-than-zie hanot-dzied bilh-has-ahn. Da-ah-hi-jih-gahn." _Not good. He does not know where he is and he's fighting something._ "I got in the way," he added sheepishly. "He was trying to leave."

Kathy sat down in her favorite chair and began tugging at her boots. _The only thing harder than getting them on was getting them off afterwards_. A large brown hand, still encircled by hand cuffs, reached forward. "I can see you are having difficulty. Let me help."

"I don't need your help! I'm perfectly capable of removing my own boots!"

She expected the big man to respond any way --- to yell back, to argue, to force her to accept his assistance --- except for how he did. Instead he merely blinked as if mildly startled, withdrew his hand, and responded, "I know. However, if the Great Spirit allows our paths to cross, should we not help one another?"

Kathy stopped struggling with her boots and sighed. "You know what? You're absolutely right. It's a bad situation and neither of us asked for this." She allowed him help her remove her boots. "I didn't ask your name."

"I'm John Quail."

"Kathy Mustang Talker. This is my ranch. Do you know his?"

"It's Walker. He's a Texas Ranger."

_They're a long way from home. Someone has _got_ to be looking for them._ _State agencies don't just misplace their officers and prisoners…do they?_ Kathy scrubbed a hand across her face. "We seem to be stuck with each other for the moment. Look, I have a pot of coffee started. Can you finish it while I attend to him?" she asked hopefully.

John actually smiled. "That much I can do."

"You can tell me what happened when the coffee is done."

The man on the couch tossed his head restlessly as though searching for something. He quieted when she laid her hand against his forehead and brushed the sweat matted hair out of his eyes. "Ah-hos-teend," she whispered soothingly. "Ye-dzhe-al-tsisi." _Be calm and rest. You are safe._

Walker's eyes opened and he stared at her with hazy blue-grey eyes. He reached a shaky hand up and caught a tendril of red-brown hair which had fallen over her shoulders. Her small nieces and nephews would sometimes finger her hair like that when they were trying to figure out the words to go with the object. "Alex?" he mumbled, "what've you done to your hair? No…it's not the right color." For an instant he seemed completely lucid and then the clarity was replaced by a feral intensity. "I…I don't know you…"

If Kathy hadn't remembered her nieces and nephews were prone to _yanking_ her hair, Walker probably would have succeeded in throwing her across the room. She'd tossed it back over her shoulder out of the way just as he tried to get a firmer hold on it. He'd only been able to knock her off balance. _What kind of man _is_ this Walker? I've seen men half as sick who couldn't even stand and he's coming at me like a bull during rutting season._ Kathy scuttled backwards and grabbed the walking stick she kept handy for use on days when she couldn't depend on her legs to function properly.

Whatever Walker was seeing, it wasn't present in this room. He assumed an aggressive fighting posture and yelled, "Trivette, make sure you've got my back!" If he hadn't been so worn down and incapacitated by his illness, Kathy wouldn't have had a chance to avoid the blows. She clumsily warded them off with the walking stick but he did manage to knock her to the floor.

"John Quail, never mind the damned coffee and get over here!"

The big Navajo seemed to cross the room in two strides. He put himself between Walker and Kathy. Walker swung wildly, missed his target, and wavered. "Trivette? Trivette, where are you?" John caught him as he collapsed and laid him back on the couch.

"You all right?" John asked, extending a hand to Kathy. She didn't refuse his help this time.

"Yeah," she panted, "no damage done except for a skinned knee. Has he been like that the whole time?"

John shook his head. "I think maybe he was tired when we headed out, but he didn't seem sick. At least, I don't think so. Walker missed a public notice at one of the rest stops. He doesn't speak Diné or understand our hand sign so I couldn't tell him. My English isn't the best."

"Coyote save me from idiots!" Kathy exclaimed in exasperation. "You didn't let him drink, did you?"

"Since when does a lawman listen to a prisoner? I tried and Walker knocked me flat on my ass!"

"All right." _He does have a point_. "What's done is done. I'll just have to make certain the mistake doesn't kill him before I can notify his people and get him some help. Forget the coffee for now. Stay with me and restrain him if he attacks again."

Walker had curled up on the couch in a fetal position, moaning softly. He didn't open his eyes or show any awareness of her presence when Kathy again placed her hand on his forehead. _He's not reacting any more and that's bad. I'd almost prefer another fight._ She snatched it back quickly and involuntarily examined the palm, for it felt as though she'd plunged it into a pot of boiling water. _Better take care of that first. Anything else can wait._ "He spent what little strength he had going after me like that," she mused. "I don't think he'll try it again. There's a linen closet in the hallway. Could you get me a couple of wash cloths, John, and soak them in water? No, better yet…get me a basin of snow from outside. You can empty those winter apples out onto the counter and use that."

"Aren't you afraid I'll run?"

John had no idea from where Kathy had pulled the pistol but it suddenly appeared in her hand. "Somehow I don't think so." She grinned, and it wasn't a pleasant one. "I'd be willing to bet even with my limp I could catch you. You're cuffed, that's a bad storm outside, and I'd be on horseback. I'm a good tracker." She pocketed the pistol and her expression softened. "Look…I'm not sure what your story is, but I think I like you. Don't try anything, please."

No one had _ever_ given him the benefit of the doubt. He was used to being judged by his brutish looks and the fact that he didn't use a means of communication many would understand. Wordlessly, he did as she asked.

Kathy turned her attention to Walker. "Let's get you out of these wet things." She tossed aside the horse blanket, which was far from clean anyhow, and unzipped the fleece jacket. It seemed to ease his breathing a bit, and expertly supported his shoulders so she could slip it off. Ice fell to the hardwood floor with a sound like breaking glass. _How long _were _they out there? Why did John walk so far with this Ranger when he could have left him out there and could have been free? He _has _to know that an out of state lawman would have no jurisdiction on Diné lands. This just keeps getting stranger and stranger._ The clothing beneath wasn't dry either but a fire in the fireplace would take care of that. For now, she'd keep him wrapped in blankets until she could ask John to split more logs. _No point in hoping McAllister will come by this afternoon. He'll be waiting out the storm as well_. She decided to leave his boots on and found herself smiling. _He's a cowboy. Never known one who would willingly part with his boots. They'd rather die in them._ She cut that last thought short as Walker began to cough. Kathy recognized the harsh, rattling sound all too well. _The man belongs in a hospital, not my living room, but there's nothing I can do about it until the storm passes._

The Ranger was growing restless, muttering and moaning as he called "Alex, Alex" over and over again as he shivered uncontrollably. Kathy didn't know if she could hear him but she spoke to him anyway. "Try to sleep, Walker," she said in English. "You'll feel better if you do." She covered him with the quilt on the back of the couch. That seemed to settle him and he quieted again. _John seems to be taking his own sweet time. _"John?"

"Here." He set the basin down beside her and kicked a stool in her direction. He must have been back inside longer than she realized because the basin also contained the wash cloths she needed.

Kathy allowed them to sit for a minute in the snowmelt and then took one and sponged Walker's face with it. He sighed in apparent relief and relaxed even more. _Good. He's not as badly off as I thought, but he's not going to keep fighting me either._ "That's right, Walker," she crooned soothingly. "Sleep and heal. I promise I'll try to find your Alex and this Trivette."

It had been a mistake to mention their names. Walker struggled toward consciousness. Kathy watched the battle in his eyes as force of will overrode his body's demand for sleep and healing. "I ... I don't know you…" he repeated.

"No, you don't," she affirmed as she continued to gently sponge his face, "but I'm a friend and I'm here to help."

"The prisoner ----"

"Secured," she said with a shrug. She didn't mention that she thought something was seriously wrong with a legal system which considered John Quail a dangerous criminal simply because he couldn't speak English. It wasn't the time to bring that up. "He'll stay that way until you can take charge of him again, Ranger."

That information seemed to release the tenuous hold on lucidity Walker possessed. This one _still_ wasn't one of the faces he'd been searching for but the voice and presence had some of the same qualities which had endeared the other two to him. Trivette would have called it his "Cherokee thing", but he had a strong feeling he could trust her. He let go.

"Out again," she sighed. He'd stay that way unless she could get the fever down. She left the cold compress on his forehead and stood up slowly. Her back was yelling at her for being in a cramped position and one of her feet had gone to sleep. She stretched, wincing when she heard the tendons popping. _Much more of this and _I _will be the one needing put to bed._ Outside, the sullen grey skies were finally tinted with the fainthearted pink of a rising sun. "Time for some coffee. I believe you owe me some answers, John."

Something cold connected with her stocking covered feet. With an exclamation of annoyance, thinking she'd stepped in melted snow, Kathy started to wipe it up. It wasn't a puddle, it was a set of keys. "Presumably one of these unlocks your handcuffs." She walked over to the big Navajo, inserted the key she thought would fit into the lock, and turned.

It snapped open and the cuffs fell open. John set them aside and rubbed his wrists to restore circulation. "Thank you," he signed. "I believe that may have been one of the reasons complicating my arrest." He gave her another wry smile. "It's difficult to sign when your hands are cuffed."

The coffee pot had been whistling angrily for some time now and Kathy became aware of the rich aroma of good trail coffee, thick and black the way she liked it. She looked down at Walker one more time; he had stopped muttering and tossing and she thought he might be truly asleep. "He's as comfortable as I can make him; I'll tend to his hands later. There's mugs in the cupboard," Kathy told him, gesturing and crossed the room to the breakfast bar. She pulled herself up onto one of the stools and waited while John got them down and poured them each a steaming cup. "Now, talk," she ordered. "I want the full story and I want to know what kind of "criminal" you are. You don't act like one."

"I'm not a criminal, I'm property!" John signed angrily, "and I have been ever since the Elders agreed to send me to that stupid "school" for children with disabilities."

Kathy set her coffee mug down more forcefully than she'd intended, sloshing onto the counter, and stared at him. _No. It's just not possible. This day cannot get any weirder._ "You're talking about the Cottonwood facility, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question. "You're one of the unlucky ones. _I _had family who rescued me."

"I didn't have any family left," John admitted. "My mother and father were killed in a car accident when I was five years old. Neither her people nor my father's cared to take me in because the marriage wasn't sanctioned."

"It's almost easier to be halfblooded than intertribal," Kathy mused. "With so many of these tribes marched off of their own lands and then placed on reservations out here next to one another, old rivalries are difficult to conquer."

John finished his coffee. "Especially when one tribe managed to negotiate a better treaty than the others and there are ongoing disputes regarding land use."

"Did you tell Ranger Walker about any of this?" Kathy ventured. "About what went on at Cottonwood, I mean?"

"I can't tell a man anything when he doesn't understand me!" John protested.

"Well, your hands are free now," she countered tartly, "and you'll have me to translate if you prefer. He certainly needs to know. It could affect your sentencing. You still haven't told me how he gained custody of you or why the two of you came to be in my driveway."

"Cottonwood was never completely shut down," John said reluctantly, "and they've expanded their 'product line' to include human labor. Those who get sent there are trained to process product or in other specialized skills such as prostitution or counterfeiting and then sold to the highest bidder. Walker and the others knew they were moving in on a major drug operation but I don't think any of the law enforcement officials knew about the human trafficking.

"We'd been transported to one of the abandoned properties serving as warehouses in order to process a large shipment. When those law enforcement officials raided the place, everyone took off running of course. My handler dragged me after him but I purposely refused to keep up. He beat it and Walker took me down. Walker had some sort of argument with the guy in charge regarding me, I think, but the Ranger seemed to have won because he cuffed me in the bed of his truck and took off for Texas.

"The rest you know about. The heat in Ranger Walker's truck doesn't seem to work well and I got so cold I dozed off. Next thing I know, Walker's out of it and the Dodge is headed up a tree."

_Well, that answers quite a few questions. I just don't know what I can do about it. And where's the damned truck? _She needed time to think. Kathy got off the stool, gathered both mugs, and took them to the sink. The water from the pump flowed more easily this time. She rinsed the dishes and placed them in the drainer to dry. "You said you were headed to Texas. Do you remember what route you took away from the bust or can you recall the last town you passed through?"

John shook his head. "We traveled miles of unmarked county roads before getting on a highway or interstate. I do recall passing through a small place called Broken Springs. Ranger Walker stopped to refuel the truck there and to get me something to eat. I think he was already sick and confused by then because he refused to eat anything himself."

Kathy gave a low whistle. "That's a lot of territory to cover. Broken Springs is half way between Raton and Clayton. You've traveled over one hundred and fifty miles in the opposite direction you intended. Do you know how long you had been walking before you came up my driveway?"

"I dunno…three, maybe four hours? It seemed like an eternity."

"I'd imagine," Kathy replied absently. She pulled a cast iron from one of the cupboards, grabbed a stick of butter and some eggs from the refrigerator, and then set everything on the wood stove. "I'm going to make us some breakfast. Could you help me out with the chores? Walker really shouldn't be left alone and I'm afraid the cold really gets to me," she explained apologetically.

"What needs done?"

"Get the generator started if you can; it's old and it might not work. If you'd split more firewood, I can lay a fire in the fireplace and stoke the wood stove."

"I think I can find the wood pile." He'd seen the wood stockpiled against one wall of the ranch house. "Where's the generator?"

"In the barn. Look in on the horses while you're there and make sure the watering troughs stayed unfrozen. I'll have breakfast ready by the time you get back."

_What on earth have I gotten myself involved with?_ Kathy wondered and broke open the first egg.


	4. Nightways

**Author's Notes: **I supplemented my scanty knowledge of Navajo healing ways and chants from here:

http/www.mc. reminder: Conversation taking place between Kathy and John is in Navajo combined with an obscure Pueblo sign language. When she speaks to Walker, she does so in English.

Kathy Mustang Talker and John Quail are my intellectual property. Both are loose composites of several real-life friends with similar disabilities. All other characters belong to the creators of Walker, Texas Ranger and I am just borrowing them for my personal entertainment. This is my first fan-fic and I've never managed to view the entire series so I hope I can be forgiven any inconsistencies.

**Chapter 4 – Nightways**

"_With your moccasins of dark cloud,_

_Come to us._

_With your leggings of dark cloud,_

_Come to us._

_With your shirt of dark cloud,_

_Come to us._

_With your head-dress of dark cloud,_

_Come to us._

_With your mind enveloped in dark cloud,_

_Come to us_

_With the dark thunder above you,_

_Come to us soaring._

_With the shaped cloud at your feet,_

_Come to us soaring._

_With the far darkness made of the dark cloud over your head,_

_Come to us soaring."_

**----- Navajo singer's chant from a Nightways** **ceremony**

John came back, arms loaded with wood and kindling, just as Kathy served the scrambled eggs onto two plates and brought them over to the dining room table. At her curt nod, he stacked it in the cradle beside the wood stove and then seated himself across from her. "The horses are fine," he said. "The generator wouldn't start. Since I'm no mechanic, I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Thanks." Kathy wiped her mouth on a napkin and took a swallow of her orange juice. "It doesn't matter too much. I can warm the house with the wood stove and we have plenty of food." She grinned at him. "I did the cooking so you can do the clean-up."

She left the big Navajo clearing the table and began the task of building a fire in the fireplace. When she had a good blaze going, she limped back to the bathroom and rummaged through her medicine chest. Kathy finally found what she wanted and carried the small first aid kit back to the living room. She sat down on the foot stool and examined her patient.

Walker hadn't moved since she'd checked on him half an hour ago and the compress she'd placed on his forehead was bone dry. _Great, that means the fever is still rising._ Kathy took a new compress and washed his face before replacing it on his forehead. She had a hard time getting Walker's hands unclenched because he was shivering so violently. _It looks like he allowed himself to be dragged behind a runaway horse._ _All that gravel will have to be removed. It's just as well he's unconscious right now._ "John, would you bring me that magnifying lens I use for fly tying? It's over there in the corner beside my rocking chair." John brought the lens and angled it so that Kathy could easily see the embedded gravel. "How'd he do this?"

"He's a stubborn man," John grunted. "Every time he had to get out of the pick-up, he would force himself to get behind the wheel again. The last few times before the truck jack knifed, I think he literally dragged himself back."

As Kathy cleaned the abrasions and removed the gravel, she had the distinct feeling of being watched. Walker's eyes were open. She expected him to wince or to cry out in pain --- some of the gravel had embedded fairly deep --- but he only grit his teeth and managed, "I'm…cold…"

_Stubborn son of a… _"I'll put the blanket back in a moment. I'm almost finished here," she soothed. "John, would you get him another blanket? I keep them in that cedar chest in the corner."

"I…don't know… you…"

_Yes, I _know_ that,_ she wanted to snap. _ No reason you should when _I_ was the one minding my own business and you brought trouble to my doorstep._ "I'm a friend," Kathy repeated patiently. "My name's Kathy Mustang Talker." She'd removed as much of the gravel as she could and now slathered antibiotic ointment over the abrasions.

Walker's only outward sign of discomfort as she finished cleaning up his hands was a low hiss and a wincing expression, quickly replaced by his usual expressionless mask. There were things he needed to know. He struggled to hold onto consciousness just a little longer. "Where am I?"

"Mustang Talker Ranch, approximately forty-five miles northwest of Taos."

"No. That can't be right." Walker's voice made it a flat statement of fact inviting no contradiction. He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "I've gotta get back on the road…." He tried to stand and found himself unable to do so. He slumped forward, shaking with the effort, and cradled his head in his hands. Walker felt so dizzy he couldn't even see straight.

"You're sick, Walker," Kathy said, gently but insistently, "and I can't let you leave in this condition. Even if we could find your truck, I'd be a fool to let you keep driving."

_Wha…I've done something with my truck?_ Confused, Walker tried to examine his recent memories. They were jumbled and kept sliding away from him, like drops of oil on water. He couldn't remember leaving the Dodge anywhere or loaning it to anyone but he couldn't recall what had happened to it either. "Did Trivette…" No, that wasn't right. His partner wasn't here and he had the feeling the absence was tied to the urgent reason he needed to get back to Dallas so quickly. He was almost glad when the woman gently pushed him back into a reclining position and tucked the blankets around him; it distracted him from the jumbled thoughts and relieved him of the need to figure this out right now.

Once she was certain he wouldn't try to get up again, Kathy went into the kitchen and came back with a small bowl and a fork. "I set aside some eggs for you. Would you try to eat something?"

The idea didn't appeal to Walker. His stomach lurched at the mere thought of food. "I don't want anything."

"You need to eat something," Kathy insisted, "to keep your strength up." She offered him a small spoonful. Walker, to his surprise, found himself eating. She had fed him most of the contents of the dish when his stomach turned over violently and he knew what was coming next. Kathy saw the change in his expression and called to John, "Hand me that porcelain basin quickly, please!"

Walker was only vaguely aware of someone supporting him and holding his hair away from his face. He felt helpless and vulnerable. That made him angry --- Cordell Walker was _never_ helpless and vulnerable --- but he couldn't seem to re-establish control over his body or his mind. Control was an attribute he strongly valued and he had never, ever allowed himself the luxury of letting it slip.

"Easy, easy," Kathy's voice carried to him from afar. "It's okay now, I've got you. You're all right." _I'm lying. He probably has pneumonia and that's blood coming up now. If that's a GI bleed caused by the contaminants in the water, I'm not going to be able to hold him here. He needs medical attention._

The heaving finally stopped. Walker lay back on the pillows, exhausted, and let her pull the blankets back over him. His skin had taken on an ominous ashy hue and his breaths came quick and shallow. "Will he really be all right?" John asked.

"I don't honestly know," said Kathy, sitting up. "I'm worried about him. I wish the power would come back on so I could at least try to get hold of some of his people. Surely they must realize he's missing and be looking for him by now."

"Is there nothing more you can do?"

"I've had a couple of summers with the tribe medicine man," Kathy said. "There are a few other things I can try."

"Where's your medicine bag?"

"In that smaller chest in the kitchen, the one which looks like a set of spice drawers."

"What do you need?"

"Put some water on to boil; tea's the only thing he'll be able to take. Let's see: aspen bark for the fever and the pain; desert willow for the cough; and bearberry for the stomach upset. Add those to a bundle of Navajo tea and sweeten it with plenty of honey --- there's some in the cupboard there above the coffee pot."

"You've quite a collection of healing herbs," John observed as he followed her instructions. "Did you gather them all yourself?"

Kathy nodded and replied absently, "Most of them. I can get around almost anywhere I need to on horseback. What I can't gather myself, my family collects on the reservation for me. They come out here twice each year, either to help with the branding and castration or to take them to market in Abilene." She walked over to the wood stove, nudged John aside, and stood over the boiling pot waving the steam into her face. The warm, spicy slightly astringent scent of the medicinals surrounded her. She tasted it, nodding, and ladled it into a large mug. "It's ready. Help me with him, please?"

"Of course."

The big Navajo followed Kathy over to the couch and held the mug she handed to him. "Walker…Walker, can you sit up for me?" she coaxed. Walker roused and tried to do as she had asked. He couldn't manage it but he kept attempting it anyhow. Even then, he _still_ wouldn't give in. _The man's like one of those fabled wild mustangs, the ones who would rather die than be broken._ Well, she didn't care to be knocked down again and in his current mindset, he just might do that. Kathy sat back and watched him exhaust himself.

"Nah," Walker panted, "I…can't do it…"

"Of all the stubborn, pig-headed ----"

Walker actually managed a weak smile. "Someone else…said those things about me…"

Kathy crossed her arms and glared at him. "Will you let us help now?"

"All right," Walker sighed, "we do it your way."

John supported Walker's shoulders while Kathy rearranged the pillows until he was in a semi-reclining position instead of flat on his back. His breathing deepened, no longer coming in short shallow pants, and the ashy color receded from his skin. She took the mug from John and placed it in Walker's hands. "Drink this." When he couldn't hold the mug because his hands still shook, Kathy held it for him. Walker hadn't expected to like the taste but whatever it was had been liberally laced with honey and seemed to strike just the right balance with his violated innards. It reminded him of something his Uncle Ray would have done for him. That thought called forth an old sense of loss, of aloneness, but --- like the rest of his thoughts --- any attempt to focus or analyze resulted in confusion. Walker let go and followed his thoughts into the darkness.

Kathy lost track of time as she fought to save the Ranger's life with her meager resources. Walker's condition continued to deteriorate; he kept almost nothing down and nothing she gave him broke the fever. Resolutely, she instructed John to add yucca root and cat claw to the brew. Neither of those herbs would stop what was happening but she hoped they would stabilize him and stop the bleeding.

During one of his increasingly few lucid periods, he had asked for his badge and then pressed it into her hand. "You'll make sure that prisoner gets to Dallas? Talk to Alex or Trivette. Tell them…"

_Did he just deputize me! _ "You'll tell them yourself," she told him, fastening the badge on his left breast pocket.

"Promise!"

"All right." She'd promised just to shut him up because he'd become so agitated.

"You may have to keep that promise," John said. "Walker's getting weaker, isn't he?"

She nodded. "There's simply not much more I can do except keep talking to him and hoping that the fever breaks. That's what's wearing him down. He's burning himself out, tearing himself apart," she murmured, wetting yet another compress and sponging Walker's face with it. Touch seemed to give the Ranger some comfort and Kathy had taken to patting his arm or lightly stroking his hair. _Who am I kidding? He's going to die unless a miracle occurs_.

In desperation, she began to sing one of the chants used in a ceremony her people used to cure illnesses of the body and the spirit.

"_O, Talking God!  
His feet, my feet, restore.  
His limbs, my limbs, restore.  
His body, my body restore.  
His mind, my mind, restore.  
His voice, my voice, restore.  
His plumes, my plumes, restore."_

"I see what you are doing," John said quietly. "You are going to use the Nightways on him."

"It's all I have left," Kathy said simply. "It's the darkness to which a person retreats and darkness without light is destruction. What I attempt is no cure but it may hold him here until we can get a call out and get him to a hospital. For the sake of his loved ones, I _have _to hold him here, in this world. I don't want to be the one to tell them he died."

"I am familiar with the Nightways," John said. "When I saw what you were doing, I made the preparations for you."

Kathy became aware of the clean scent of burning sage and realized he had built a smudge in the small clam shell she kept in her medicine bundle for ritual purposes. She pulled her mustang fetishes out of it, placed one in Walker's upturned hand, and then fanned the smoke over them both using an eagle feather.

"He's a man haunted by many ghosts and hurts," she murmured. "May the brighter threads outshine the dark."

With the threads of the chant, Kathy sought the bright threads which tethered the Ranger to this world and held him from the next. These she smoothed and untangled, made solid and whole. The dark and dirty threads she discarded where she could or bound them up and put them away.

Walker, lost in the darkness, heard the voice and dreamed.


	5. Eagles and Horses

**Author's Notes: **"Eagles and Horses" is a reflection of Walker's inner state of mind in this chapter. The song, by John Denver, can be found here: http/ Weaver is based upon the Navajo myth of Spider Woman. More information can be found here: http/ have, during Walker's vision quest, made references to the episodes "One Riot, One Ranger" (April 21, 1993), "Borderline" (April 24, 1993), "In the Name of God" (October 30, 1993), "Family Matters" (November 30, 1993), and "An Innocent Man" (December 4, 1993). These segments are written solely from Walker's point of view and intended to showcase some of the ties which keep Walker from crossing over the river.

Kathy Mustang Talker and John Quail are my intellectual property. Both are loose composites of several real-life friends with similar disabilities. All other characters belong to the creators of Walker, Texas Ranger and I am just borrowing them for my personal entertainment. This is my first fan-fic and I've never managed to view the entire series so I hope I can be forgiven any inconsistencies.

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 5 – Eagles and Horses**

"_My body is merely the shell of my soul  
But the flesh must be given its due  
Like a pony that carries its rider back home  
Like an old friend that's tried and been true_

"I had a vision of eagles and horses  
High on a ridge in a race with the wind  
Going higher and higher and faster and faster  
On eagles and horses I'm flying again"

**----- **"Eagles and Horses" by John Denver

Thunder, followed by lightning flashes, rumbled and echoed in the distance. Wary, he extended his senses and scoped out the territory. Walker found himself on a darkened plain with storm clouds hanging heavy and low in the sky. He was dressed in the ceremonial clothing he typically wore for rites on the reservation. He didn't hurt and he wasn't uncomfortable any more but he didn't particularly _feel _anything either…and he missed it.

_Sounds, plants, objects…everything around you has meaning. _Walker looked around uncertainly and tried to puzzle out what he needed to do. The lonely cry of an eagle above called his attention to a break in the cloud cover. The full moon silhouetted a mustang. It whinnied, pawing the turf, and then charged ahead through the mist. Walker found himself following the animal between two walls, one of fire and the other of ice. Sometimes they lost one another in the mists but something always drew him onward until he could at least see the outline of the horse. If Walker faltered, the horse turned back toward him as if to give encouragement.

The walls opened out onto an arroyo. He had apparently come up out of a box canyon with its red cliffs extending to his left and right in either direction for as far as he could see. Ahead of him, the sandy ground sloped gently down into a clear, swiftly flowing river flanked by globe willows. Walker heard hoof beats echoing off the canyon walls and stared in amazement as a herd of wild mustangs, led by the one which had brought him here, came down to the water to drink. The magnificently proportioned blue roan paint lifted his head, muzzle dripping, and looked directly at Walker.

"Horses are creatures of earth, Washo," said a quiet voice behind him. "Observe that their hooves touch the water and yet you do not see them cross. To do so is to break their nature. They have need of the water but they wish no more than what need dictates."

Walker swung around, stunned and uncomprehending. "Uncle Ray…?" _This isn't possible. I _have _to figure out what this means._

The Cherokee Elder placed a work-worn hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Have a care, Washo, for you already have one foot in the water. To cross it is to never return to the other side. Come with me, nephew, and I will guide you to one who may be of help."

His temper flared along with his innate stubbornness. Walker stopped and refused to go any further. "I don't like riddles, Uncle Ray," he snapped. "I never have. Want to tell me what's going on?"

Uncle Ray rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. It was an expression the old man had used often when Walker was younger. "This is the reason we're here in the first place," he responded. "You are too stubborn for your own good."

Walker couldn't help grinning. He gave in gracefully, catching up and slapping his Uncle Ray on the back. "I always have been, Uncle, you knew that."

He laughed. "Come on, nephew, she's waiting."

They followed the sandy little beach to a point where it widened out into a still pool of deep, clear water. Globe willow and wild plum grew plentifully along the banks. Beneath one of the largest trees Walker had ever seen in this type of country sat a woman weaving. He recognized the manner in which she dressed and her jewelry as Navajo. "What's she doing here?"

"She is trying to help you, Washo," his uncle replied, "but she does not know which of the threads should be kept, which need torn away, and which need only to be rewoven in their proper context. "You must look for yourself and decide."

"Uncle Ray," Walker asked suddenly, "have I died?"

"Not yet," the old man responded, "but the way is open. You alone can decide which path holds more promise." He turned his back on his nephew and walked back up the draw. In a moment the underbrush had swallowed all traces of his passage.

The Weaver spoke to Walker then, her voice low and melodious. "Come, sit," she invited him and smiled. He crossed the clearing and sat down beside her with his legs tucked up under him. When she gave him no further instructions, he simply watched her weaving the blanket in her lap. "You may touch," she said. "It's yours after all."

Walker didn't know much about Navajo weaving patterns but this particular blanket had a traditional look to it. Woven with dark, rich colors and threads of various textures, it was sturdy and solid but softer than it looked. Part of it, he saw, seemed a bit threadbare or carelessly woven with many loose ends in varying conditions. Other parts seemed tight and professional, bound with bright threads of softer hues and textures.

"It's quite a piece of work," Walker said thoughtfully, "and well woven in places."

"A blanket well woven is a life well lived," said the Weaver. Her deft fingers plucked at a bundle of threads which had become tangled and soiled. One by one she separated them out save for the main thread which bound them. "Now this…these threads start here frayed and disconnected but see how they bind the blanket together later."

This one," she said, holding up a long length of coarse but brightly colored wool, "connects to all others which come later. See how it is part of the foundation of the blanket and how it brings in the other threads which continue the weaving."

He knew without having to think about it to whom that thread belonged. "CD's a character all right," he said, cracking a huge grin. "He was the man who trained me as _his_ partner when I joined the Texas Rangers. He took a shot in his knee which forced him into medical retirement but no one could keep him there…."

_CD Parker had kept himself within the influence of the Texas Rangers by starting a bar and grill in the Fort Worth Stockyards which most of Company B came to favor as its watering hole of choice. Walker had helped him with the financing, reluctantly accepting the title of silent partner. There the Rangers would go to discuss hard cases, to plan sting operations, or just to socialize and CD would offer unsolicited advice from behind the counter._

_They'd been discussing the subject right before Walker's partner Mobley had walked in._

"_You know, Cordell," CD had remarked fatuously as he pecked out a few words on the typewriter, "I have got more advice in me. I bet you I could straighten out any man, woman, child, dog, chicken…anything with hair on it in three area codes."_

_Walker had taken a drink of his coffee in order to avoid saying something which might possibly encourage CD to continue rambling. "I don't doubt it," he'd said diplomatically with a sardonic smile._

Walker chuckled, remembering that ridiculous advice column CD had sweated over for a couple of months. "You're going to get CD's opinion whether you want it or not," he told the Weaver. "That's just how he is."

"He strikes a kind of balance for you," the Weaver observed, still working with the strand of wool. "See how sturdy and strong the elements around this one become? That happens because the original material is such a fine quality. Even in places where it fades into the background in favor of other threads, its influence is felt."

The next of the threads extended back into one of the tight and professionally woven sections of blanket. It ended abruptly, as though it had been suddenly cut, and the hole had been patched with different materials: a bright, soft ribbon of royal blue and gold and a rusty brown velvet strip. Gently, reverently, he stroked the first of the threads. A name came to mind, the name whose owner had been a catalyst for some of the best things in his life, and he told the Weaver about him.

_Walker clearly remembered the easy and comfortable teasing he and CD Parker had given the man the day he walked out of their lives forever. Mobley had been seriously dating a girl for a while and had bought her a bracelet. They'd ribbed him about its cost --- he'd paid far too much for it --- until he'd gotten upset enough to return it._

"_That boy," CD had sighed as he watched Mobley leave. "He really, really believes in people. That's a gift from God. It's also," and CD had looked knowingly into Walker's eyes, "a dangerous trait for a Ranger."_

"I almost told him that it wasn't something he'd ever have to worry about with me," Walker admitted. "I'd seen enough of what people do to one another by then that I really didn't put much stock in the innate goodness of the human spirit. You can't be hurt if you expect the worst."

"You cannot live either," said the Weaver. "Hurt is sometimes necessary for growth."

Walker had no answer for that. He continued to stare thoughtfully at the thread. Against his wishes, painful memories he thought he had buried returned to the surface.

_A call had gone out for all units to respond to a bank robbery. Mobley had been gunned down trying to help someone, actually an accomplice, he had perceived as caught in the crossfire. Walker had stopped wanting to live at that point; he was tired of losing people he cared about and just didn't want to hurt any more. He'd kept trying to cut himself off from the world, to immerse himself in his work, until two others had broken through that shell._

Walker's eyes shown with tears as he smoothed the thread back into place. He'd been so consumed by his own guilt --- for pushing Mobley so hard he left the safety of CD's, for not being there with his partner when he took the fatal call --- that he had thought only of revenge. Walker had never actually grieved for the loss of that friend; others who needed him had been thrust upon him and he'd been swept up in his caseload.

The Weaver spoke gently, her voice warm with sympathy. "It is hard to lose someone you care about. It is harder still to let go and to continue caring but if you do not, the grief becomes a hole within you, much like the one in this blanket." Expertly, with care and reverence, she smoothed the frayed ends of the thread and tucked them back into the blanket's original weave.

"You're right about that," Walker agreed. "CD usually understood that but this one time …"

_After Mobley had been killed, CD had let Walker have his space for all of two days. He'd then insisted that Walker come down to the Ranger gym and swimming pool to meet Mobley's replacement. He'd sputtered protests and then retreated into a sullen silence when they fell on deaf ears. During the ride to headquarters CD had enthusiastically told Walker all about Jimmy Trivette's background and career._

"_I just know you're gonna love 'im," CD had proclaimed._

"_I doubt it," Walker had snapped after CD had droned on and on about the boy's use of computers in police work._

"_Well, Cordell, don't feel threatened. No one expects _you_ to come smiling into the twenty-first century."_

"This one here," the Weaver said, picking up a broad piece of dark, rusty velvet, "fills the hole in the weave left by the other thread, given time."

"My partner Trivette," Walker admitted. "He's a damned good friend."

"It wasn't always so?"

"Not at all. In fact, after Mobley died, I did my damnedest to drive him off …"

Walker wasn't particularly happy with those memories. Looking back, he was surprised that Trivette hadn't asked for a transfer or at least another partner.

_Walker had found himself trying hard not to gawk at an awkward young man in Speedos whose enthusiasm made him feel as though he were being hounded by an unwanted puppy. The kid would never be able to keep up and he doubted the man could fight either. CD had seen Walker's hardened expression and had tried to mediate. "Looks are deceiving."_

"_Not those looks."_

"_Just give him a chance, Cordell."_

"He wanted so badly to impress me but I just don't like modern technology…."

_They'd talked about the recent robberies as they tried to determine a pattern which would give them a clue where the gang might strike next. Trivette had used his computer skills to correlate similarities between the robberies._

"_I checked too…without computers." He'd wanted the kid to know that most of the cases weren't going to be as easy as searching through a database. Actually, what he wanted most was to get Trivette out of his life. The last thing he needed was responsibility for another partner, another person who could be hurt or killed because of him. He'd started deliberately miscalling Trivette's name. It had been a petty action, designed to depersonalize him or incite him to leave. Cordell Walker didn't need anyone._

"It wasn't until Jimmy was seriously hurt during a shootout --- a bullet penetrated a propane tank he'd been using for cover --- that I realized I actually liked him and _wanted _him to be my partner…."

_He'd heard the bullets hitting metal, had seen Trivette crouched by the propane tank, and had hollered at him to move. The warning had come too late and the explosion had knocked them both off their feet and unconscious. Walker had come to with a paramedic bending over him and checking him out. He'd ignored his own injuries and had lurched over to the gurney where Trivette was being loaded into the ambulance._

The Weaver made an appreciative noise as she plucked up the next strand, a delicate band of vivid blue and gold. "Such a fine, strong weave! Look how it winds its way in and out among the others. The thread disappears at times into the background but always re-emerges." Her hands caught on something and she frowned. "Someone has tried more than once to take this thread from the weaving but it simply cannot be done. This thread is one without which the entire blanket would unravel."

"Alex..." Walker whispered the name the way others might a prayer or the name of a saint. He thought of the manner in which her corn silk hair shown in the sunlight, of the way in which her mouth set when she was arguing with him, how her sapphire blue eyes sparked and snapped when she felt passionately about something.

_CD had introduced them to one another as well. They hadn't exactly gotten along and at the time he'd thought her arrogant and badly in need of being put in her place. He'd tried with verbal barbs and sullen uncooperativeness but she wouldn't be pushed away. _

_One time, in particular, early on in their friendship, she'd hounded him about the legality of a bust. _

"_You exceeded your authority. You went into Mexico without authorization or consultation," she'd scolded him as they'd walked down the stairs of the courthouse. "I'm going to have to kick them loose."_

"_Not true."_

_He'd dared her to call the Sonoran governor's office. He'd propped his boots up on her desk, something calculated to make her furious, and smirked while she contacted him only to find out that Walker _had_ had permission to make the arrests._

"She was madder than hell about that because I'd embarrassed her," Walker said. "I hated her for being so inflexible but I never could refuse anything she asked of me, even back then…"

_Later, she'd intruded upon his grief --- a tactic he now recognized as her way of trying to ease that pain --- with a personal request he couldn't refuse. Walker had protested, had struggled with his conscience, and had made it plain that he didn't want his personal space intruded upon by others' troubles._

"_Why are you telling me this?" He'd asked in frustration, feeling put upon. She'd shown him the photographs of a sixteen year old girl, before and after her rape, and had explained that without a safe place to stay she would leave town and the case could not be prosecuted. Walker had had finally given in because Alex felt so strongly about the case and because she never asked him for anything but now she was practically begging._

"_Cordell Walker, there is a special place in heaven for people like you!" Alex had exclaimed._

"_Yeah," he'd sighed, "and I can't wait to get there."_

"Did you mean that?" asked the Weaver.

"That's the hell of it," Walker replied. He stood up to stretch his legs and walked over to the water's edge. The still water showed only his reflection and told him nothing. "I didn't know then and I still don't have that answer. Nearly everyone I care for gets ripped out of my life and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it."

His eyes clouded over as he thought about the conversation which had taken place between himself and the rape victim shortly after she'd gone out to his ranch.

_Walker had found her, knees drawn up beneath her chin, sitting on the front porch and staring out at the stars. He recognized emotional pain when he saw it and had wanted to help. The only way he knew how to reach out was to share his own tragedy. He'd told her about the murder of his parents in slow, agonizing detail._

"_Did they hurt you too?"_

_He didn't know how to answer that question. The attackers hadn't roughed him up but they'd left him bereft of family and utterly destroyed inside. "They hurt me real bad," he'd admitted softly._

"_How could you ever get over something like that?" she'd demanded tearfully._

"_You don't ever get over it completely but time has a way of helping make things better. With the love of good friends, they _will_ get better for you." _ Except I don't have such friends, _he'd thought bitterly. On the heels of that thought came the suggestion that even if he didn't have such friends, he ought to be one for this girl._

_She'd finally broken down then and cried in his arms. "Don't let your life be destroyed by something you couldn't possibly prevent," Walker has whispered to her._

"You do not heed your own advice," the Weaver remarked.

"What fool does?" Walker asked of no one in particular.

"Reason enough to stay a while longer. Come away from that water, we have more to discuss. Tell me more about your Alex."

"Every time I think there may be something between us, she goes and does something stupid. It makes it difficult to understand what her feelings truly are…"

_After Alex had won that rape case, he'd run into her and her client on the stairs. The girl had been grateful for the time Walker had taken to help her heal and had surprised him with a hug._

"_If you don't mind, I'll take one of those too," Alex had said and had flung her arms around him. He'd been so tongue-tied and shocked that he'd barely managed to keep them both from falling down._

"_I could get used to that," he'd drawled as he watched her long legs carrying her across the marble floor toward the courtroom._

_Alex heard him and turned around, laughing. "That's all I need in my life, a crazy cowboy."_

"Much as I'd like things to be different, we're friends and not much else. She dates other people…"

_Alex had had a horse named Amber who she'd loved as a parent would a child. Walker, out of pure spite, had harangued her constantly with derisive remarks regarding the way she pampered the animal. She'd asked his Uncle Ray to take a look at the horse for some mild ailment and he'd accompanied her out to the stable. Alex had been dating a tennis player and Walker took the opportunity to needle her about that as well._

_They'd both found out at the same time that a newly released criminal Alex had helped put behind bars had come back to Dallas to stalk her. Walker had gone over to her place with the intention of protecting her but he'd interrupted an intimate dinner date and her streak of independence took possession of her temper._

"_Cordell Walker," she'd hissed at him, "let me ask you something: if I were a man, would you be coming out here and tossing your dusty bed roll on to my couch?"_

"_Alex," he'd tried to placate her, "I've known at least a dozen DAs out of your office. Believe me, if this guy was after any one of them, they'd be reaching for the nearest telephone to call the National Guard." Walker had completely lost both temper and patience. "But you've got to be tougher than any man, right, Alex?"_

_When the man had killed her horse, he'd wanted nothing more than to take back those words and comfort her. She hadn't let him._

"_You were right about me, you know," Alex had said, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "Too stubborn for my own good."_

_He hadn't known what words to say which wouldn't sound condescending and get his eyes scratched out. He'd settled for fairly neutral territory. "That's not a bad thing to be…sometimes."_

"Actually, I learned a lot about her that day," Walker admitted. "I never thought about how hard it is for a woman in her position to succeed. She needed to be independent and strong in order to get the job done and she viewed any attempt at kindness as a chance to knock her down a peg…"

_Never good with words, Walker had chosen to speak his mind with a gift instead. He had dragged her back out to the stable and shown her a small yearling colt in the stall where Amber had lived. "I bought this little critter for the ranch," he'd lied, but she's too dadgum independent. I think you two will suit each other fine."_

"_Cordell Walker, sometimes you just amaze me."_

"_Well, Alexandra," he'd said and given her a genuine smile, "you're pretty amazing yourself."_

He jumped up, displeased with his thoughts, and paced. "It always takes a crisis to make me realize how important someone is to me and then it's too late to tell them." Walker slammed clenched his fists at his sides and shouted, "I can't ever come up with the right words. People who love me get hurt or go away," he whispered. "I can't stand it any more." He found himself standing on the edge of the pool with the tips of his toes touching the water.

"Do not cross over!" the Weaver commanded sharply. Against his will, Walker was drawn back to her side. "Sit down and listen! Are you really so anxious to leave your life behind? Is there no reason to continue, does the weaving end here, on an unfinished loom full of empty promises?"

_He remembered the time Alex had gone out to a religious compound to investigate the disappearance of a friend's daughter. She hadn't come back and he'd come to the uneasy conclusion that she was being held against her will. It had taken a lot of planning and the resources of both Texas Rangers and the local law enforcement but he'd finally been able to gain access and free her. Walker had reached her just as the perpetrator was attempting to force himself on Alex. He had grabbed the guy and tossed him across the room. A small skirmish had ensued before Walker used a submission hold to knock the criminal unconscious. Alex had flung herself into his arms, crying in relieve. Instead of telling her what was on his mind --- that he was relieved she was safe, that he wanted to hold her and never let her go --- he'd begun giving her a tongue lashing._

"_What did you think you were doing," he demanded, shaking her harshly, "going on a dang fool mission like this without telling me? Don't you ever do anything like that again!"_

_Alex pulled back, shocked and hurt, and then that familiar spitfire gleam had entered her eyes, the one which usually let him know she was going to give it to him big time. "If you won't, I will…" She'd kissed him so hard and so hungrily that it had been a moment before he could react. They might have stood there kissing forever if Trivette had not burst in on them to let Walker know the area was secure. They'd broken away as though scalded and neither had ever mentioned the incident again._

"We're always arguing or something gets between us," Walker sighed. "Once, we almost never spoke to one another again…."

_Walker and Trivette had busted two men for holding up a dance club, terrorizing everyone within, and shooting the bartender. When they brought them down to headquarters, Alex's secretary had interrupted the booking and demanded they both see her in her office immediately._

"_What do you mean, you're gonna let 'em go?" he demanded, his voice deadly quiet. He kept a careful leash on his temper because he knew if he let go now, he would regret it deeply later._

"_Walker, I know how upset you are..."_

"_Why wouldn't I be? They terrorized the patrons, shot a young man who may or may not survive his wounds, and almost raped a dancer but you're putting them back on the streets. No, I have no damned reason to be upset." His voice dripped scorn and sarcasm._

_Alex lost all patience with him. She came around the desk and stood, eyes snapping and lips pursed, within inches of his face as she stared him down. "Look, I'm not happy about this either but I've got pressure coming down on me from upstairs." She wouldn't tell him or Trivette anything more no matter how hard they pressed her. "Forget it, Walker. That's a direct order, is that clear? Do not pursue this matter for another second. You got it?"_

"_I got it," he snapped. "I'm just not gonna take it."_

"It turned out we were in danger of blowing a federal case and exposing their witness," Walker explained, "but that didn't make it any easier to allow the guy to go free. Alex tried a peace offering a few days later, but…"

_He had ridden out just before sunrise and when he returned to the front yard, Alex had been waiting for him at the picnic table. He draped the reins over the saddle horn, told Amigo to stay, and dismounted._

"_Good morning," she called in a voice too bright._

"_Morning," he muttered, not in the mood to be kind or to deal with her. "What've you got?"_

"_A donut and coffee." Alex smiled at him and Walker suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss her good morning and tell her all was forgiven. "There's not even a favor attached."_

"_Mmm-hmm," he said noncommittally. "That'll be a first. What are you doing up so early?"_

"_Early?" she bristled. Suddenly, Alex had completely had it with his attitude. "_I_ haven't been to bed yet. I've been on the phone with everyone from the Captain to the feds to the governor trying to straighten out the mess you created. I almost lost my job trying to save yours. I guess I _am_ asking you a favor. I'm asking you to sit this on out so we can still work together after this is all over."_

"_Not gonna happen," growled Walker, thoroughly pissed off now, and had gone into the house._

"You patched things up?" asked the Weaver, smoothing and tucking the ribbon back into place as well.

"Not exactly. Things were awkward for a while and we avoided each other. One day Trivette went into her office for something and found her crying. He and CD corralled me at the bar and grill that night and strongly suggested I make amends." Walker didn't mention that CD's and Trivette's idea of "making amends" had included taking him out behind the restaurant and cleaning the alley with him. "I brought her some yellow roses from the ranch and we talked."

The Weaver smoothed the last of the threads into place and cut the blanket from the loom. She held it up for him and said, "Look closely now and see how all is in perspective, merely part of the pattern. Walker, you must go back and deal with your hurts and your struggles. I have made the blanket as whole as possible but the rest is really up to you."

Walker looked again at the blanket. All the tangled, dirty filaments had either been pulled or somehow cleaned and strengthened by the surrounding threads. It shown with strength and beauty given it by those few threads with which the Weaver had worked. "My thanks."

"Keep it always," the Weaver told him. "A few carefully placed patches on a worn blanket make it stronger and lend it character. It need not be discarded so easily." She whistled and Walker heard the thunder of hooves. The blue roan paint came up the draw and stopped before them. "Ride the stallion. He will take you safely to where you need to go. Safe journeys."

Walker placed the blanket across the horse's bare back and swung himself up. He gently kneed the stallion in the ribs to get him going and grabbed a handful of mane to keep himself steady on the beast's back. It carried him away toward the east, where at last the sun was beginning to break through the clouds.


	6. Solitary Ranger

**Author's Notes:** I have made references to and elaborated upon the episode "Trust No One" (February 1995) when Trivette was reassigned to desk work pending completion of an investigation regarding his involvement in the disappearance of five million dollars from thirty million in counterfeit bills.

I have purposely omitted details from the process in which Auguston gains access to the databases on Company B's servers as I do not wish to encourage criminal activity. The process is based on factual steps but assumes several things, including security issues, which would most likely **not**be the case with any law enforcement agency's computer systems.

Actual geographical locations have been used where possible. Cimarron County, Kenton, and Boise City are real places in the Oklahoma panhandle. The Kiowa National Grassland, sometimes mistakenly referred to as the Rita Blanca Grassland, also exists. The one to which I refer spans the Texas, New Mexico, and Oklahoma borders.

Ranger David Auguston is my intellectual property. All other characters belong to the creators of Walker, Texas Ranger and I am just borrowing them for my personal entertainment.

**What Price Humanity Chapter 6 Solitary Ranger**

"_He had to deal with the danger 'round every turn  
Every day was a tightrope of decision  
Between a forty-four and a heart of gold  
Some of those hard case confrontations  
Would cut him like a switch-blade to his soul_

He was long on southern justice  
Practiced his law out on the street  
Drew the line for the criminal mind to see"

**----- **"Southern Justice" performed by Travis Tritt

Company B Ranger Headquarters Dallas, Texas – three days later

Trivette sat at his desk doing paperwork. It was the worst part of the job and he loathed it, especially since right now it was the _only_ part of his job. Alex and Walker had done well enough proving reasonable doubt in his case that he had been allowed out of lock-up and back to work but the Captain wouldn't risk putting him back out in the field until all charges had been cleared. Walker was out there somewhere, without him, and that troubled Jimmy more than he could articulate. He and Walker made a perfectly balanced team and he worried that without him to provide restraint Walker could become incautious or lose his temper. Jimmy found himself looking between Walker's empty desk and the phone every few minutes instead of paying attention to his work.

"Waiting for something?" Alex Cahill's voice broke into his thoughts. She tossed three folders onto his desk. "I brought those old depositions you asked for."

The pencil he'd had been fiddling with snapped in half and Jimmy almost fell out of his chair. "Don't _do_ that!" he exclaimed. "You been taking lessons from Walker or something?"

Alex scooted a pile of papers aside with her hip and perched on the corner of his desk. She laughed. "Jimmy, you were miles away. I could have been wearing bells and you wouldn't have heard me come in. What's on your mind?"

"I should've gone with him!" Jimmy exploded. "This was a big bust, they're taking down some bad _hombres_, and he's gonna get in trouble without someone to watch his back. I _know_ Walker and caution simply isn't his game."

"Jimmy." Alex leaned across the desk and placed a slender hand over his. "We've been over this before. Until you're completely cleared of the embezzlement charges, you can't go anywhere. I barely managed to convince a judge to let you return to desk work; it would have taken a miracle to convince him to let you leave the state. You're right…it _is_ a big bust and with three state agencies and the DEA involved, someone _will_ have his back. Walker's a big boy. He can handle himself."

Trivette kicked his feet off the desk with a thump and looked intently at the assistant district attorney. "I'm worried about him," he said quietly. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Jimmy Trivette, are you going Cherokee on me?" Alex demanded, trying to tease him out of his pensive mood.

Jimmy refused to be coaxed out of his current state of mind. The situation felt too serious for jokes. "Alex, he's missed his last two call-ins."

"Oh." Alex hadn't known that and it disturbed her. This hadn't been an undercover operation and so she couldn't think of any real reason Walker would have missed a call, let alone two…unless something really _had_ happened. "Jimmy, what are we going to do?"

"The only thing we can do at this point." Jimmy looked at the clock, which was now a few minutes shy of 5:00 PM. He scooped the folders and other paperwork into a pile and dumped them unceremoniously into his desk drawer. "We'll go to CD's and wait for Walker's next call there. If he doesn't call, we'll have some dinner, talk over our options, and see if CD has any good ideas." He stood up, put his hat on, and offered his arm to Alex. "Let's go, counselor."

She linked arms with him. "You're on!"

CD's Bar and Grill, Fort Worth Stockyards

CD was waiting for them when they came in. He motioned for them to take seats at the bar, poured them their drinks, and set a bowl of steaming chili in front of each of them. "Cordell call yet?" he asked.

"Nah, nothing yet," said Jimmy. He popped a spoonful of chili in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then snatched for his water glass. "Dang, CD, what did you _put_ in this?"

CD grinned. "That there's a new recipe. I added a new chili pepper, s'posed to be the hottest in the world."

"Well, it _tastes_ like it," Jimmy exclaimed. "Give me some more water, man!"

"Won't help," said CD unsympathetically but he went to the refrigerator and came back with a glass of milk. "Your trouble, Jimmy, is that you're weak."

Alex could tell the two of them were about to get into another of their infamous word jousts. "You said Walker had missed two call-ins," she interrupted them. "When was the last one? Do you know where he was calling from or where he should be now?"

Jimmy got his laptop out (_At least they didn't bother confiscating _that, he thought) and consulted it. "According to the records, the request assigning Walker to the bust came through DEA and local law enforcement out of Kenton up in Cimarron County. The goods were supposed to be housed on an old farmstead in the Kiowa National Grasslands and then flown out of either Boise City or Clayton, New Mexico. The liaison for New Mexico law enforcement was one Captain Hendricks and the liaison for Oklahoma was a man named Lieutenant Wallace." He typed out a few more commands, frowned at the screen, and slammed the bar top with his fist. "Aw, man!"

"Whassa matter, boy, did you break somethin'?" asked CD.

"I've been locked out of the databases! My password's no longer valid."

"I was afraid that might happen," Alex said. "I'm genuinely sorry, Jimmy. Anything else we can do?"

"Y'all need to find out the name of the DEA agent who organized the sting," CD commented. "That'd be the place to start."

"And I don't have access to that information any more," muttered Jimmy, slumping in defeat. "It wasn't mentioned in the initial reports for security reasons." He did not, however, feel defeated for long. "Wait a minute! All we need is someone who _does_ have access to that information right now."

"Talk to the Auguston boy then," said CD. "He's almost as good with them new-fangled computers are you are, Jimmy."

"Auguston?" Jimmy asked. "I don't recall an informant with that name."

"He means David Auguston," Alex clarified. "That's the young man Company E sent over for Walker to train. He arrived two days before Walker left on this bust but he hadn't been officially checked in."

"Oh, yeah, I remember seeing him working out in the gym. Doesn't say much, keeps to himself mostly. Rumor has it he got himself some sort of trouble back in Company E. He's got some good moves, though. The guys were saying that he might be able to give Walker a run for his money."

"Do _you_ know anything about him, CD?" Alex asked, remembering the retired Ranger's penchant for gossip. Somehow he always seemed to know the choicest bits of information circulating around Company B.

"Well now," said CD, chewing thoughtfully at his mustache, "it just so happens I've heard a few things. Peculiar fella, like Jimmy said. Keeps to himself, doesn't like working with others."

"Sounds like someone else we know," commented Alex, a warm smile curving her lips.

"Why d'ya think they sent him to us?" CD demanded. "Other than that blamed stubborn streak, Auguston has a decent service record. Worked his way up the hard way, started out as a beat cop for and was promoted to vice after two years. Spent four years in vice and then got transferred to a special unit handling contraband. Boy's got the makings of a good Ranger if he can get learn to work with a team. His former captain is a friend of Cordell's and figured Cordell'd be the one to straighten him out."

"Wonder if anyone told Walker that," Jimmy muttered. His initial partnership with Walker hadn't been much fun; the man practically embodied the "lone wolf" stereotype and had made no secret of the fact that he didn't want a partner. Jimmy was just now getting to be on comfortable terms with Walker.

"Boy's in for a hard time," CD agreed. "I don't know 'bout you two, but when those two bucks lock horns I wanna be elsewhere!"

Alex cleared her throat. "If we could get back to the subject…when was the last time _you _heard from Walker?"

"Walker called just after the bust went down," Jimmy answered, "to say he was headed back to Dallas with a prisoner to transport. There'd apparently been some sort of argument with the DEA agent in charge over the advisability of doing so and Walker sounded steamed about heading back so late."

"He'd called my office about half an hour after you talked to him, then," Alex said. She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced; it had gone cold and tasted awful. "CD, could you refill that with fresh coffee, please? The DEA agent, Captain Hendricks, and Lieutenant Wallace didn't think he should be transporting the prisoner without back-up but Walker seemed to feel that the prisoner had some sort of special needs which would hinder him getting a fair hearing if he were left in their custody. I filed the paperwork documenting special circumstances and giving the Texas Rangers authority to retain custody, called him back to let him know it had been done, and then talked to each of the other officers. That was around 4:30 in the afternoon."

"We need to get a-hold of those officers and we need the name of the DEA agent," CD declared. "I'll call Dave and tell 'im to get down here and help us out. Jimmy, you mind letting him use your computer?"

"Nah, man, go ahead. Just get it done. We've got to find out what happened to Walker."

CD picked up the phone on the end of the bar and dialed. "Dave? I've got a favor to ask of ya…."

Ten minute later, a gust of wind blew the door open and a tall, lanky cowboy wearing an oilskin slicker walked in. He hung the slicker on the coat rack and then removed his hat, revealing a shocking thatch of curly carrot red hair. He stood there, hat in hand, looking around uncertainly until CD barreled out from behind the bar to greet him. "Dave, good t' see ya," he said, slapping the young man enthusiastically on the back. "Sorry to call you out in this weather, but I think you'll find I had good reason. C'mon over to the bar and meet the others." He steered the dumbfounded young Ranger back to their little group and introduced them. "Jimmy Trivette, Walker's partner. You know Alex Cahill, the Tarrant County deputy district attorney."

"Trivette?" The redhead's eyes narrowed as he shook hands. "Aren't you the one who supposedly took five million dollars from evidence?"

"Aren't you the one who couldn't hack it with Company E?" Trivette countered shortly. "They say you won't even carry a gun."

Alex saw the two men squaring off for more than a verbal sparing match and decided she had better intervene. "Walker's missing," she told Auguston, taking him by the arm and turning on the charm. "We sure could use your help finding out what happened to him."

"Walker's missing?" Auguston dropped his belligerent attitude, his quarrel with Trivette forgotten, and adopted a more businesslike demeanor. "What do you need from me?"

Jimmy counted to ten before he answered. "My access to the databases has been suspended so I can't get the information we need. We need contact information for Captain Hendricks and Lieutenant Wallace and we need to know the name of the DEA agent who headed the sting operation. Start there. You can use my computer," he said, pushing the laptop in Auguston's direction.

"Piece of cake," Auguston said, real enthusiasm warming his voice. He sat down, cracked his knuckles, and began typing. He frowned, tried another command…and another.

"What's the problem?" Jimmy asked, leaning over Auguston's shoulder and watching as error after error generated.

"It's your laptop, Ranger Trivette," Auguston explained, "or more specifically, your assigned user ID. Each laptop issued to Rangers by the Department of Public Safety has a unique fixed identity. The network recognizes yours as belonging to a suspended user."

"Can you work around it?"

"It will take longer than I'd originally estimated but I can have your information for you."

"That's the Texas Rangers web site available to the public," Alex observed, surprised. "How will that help us?"

Auguston didn't answer immediately as his fingers flew over the keyboard. He typed the final command. "There!" he said, satisfied. "Now we just have to wait. I initiated a special program which will create an administrative console access independent of Jimmy's network ID. I can then exploit a hole in the web site's security system to seek out the backup server in the internal network. Once there, I can use my own ID to search for the information you folks need. It won't be traceable because no one will be monitoring the backup server unless something actually happens to the original web site interface."

"That's brilliant!" Jimmy breathed.

"In plain English, what in tarnation does that mean?" CD growled.

"I'm in," Auguston said simply.

"Well, why didn't you just say so, son?"

"Never mind," Alex said, forestalling another confrontation. "How soon can you get the contact information we need, David?"

He tapped out a few more commands. "I'm pulling up the documentation now. It says the DEA agent's name is Harry LaFayette and it gives a cell phone number. The contact information for Captain Hendricks and Lieutenant Wallace is here also. There's a notation in the logs indicating that Walker called dispatch from just outside of Mount Dora, New Mexico around 9:30 PM that evening. He'd expected to stop for the night in Amarillo. There's no further report in the logs indicating he ever made it there."

"Who took that call?" CD asked.

With a few more keystrokes, Auguston had an answer for them. "It looks like 'Nita's the one who handled it."

Jimmy copied the information they'd gotten down into his notebook. "Let's get started, then. David, come with me and we'll talk to 'Nita about that call. She may have heard from Walker by now. CD, you call Captain Hendricks and Lieutenant Wallace. Alex, you'd better be the one to handle Agent LaFayette. David and I will meet you guys back here as soon as we're finished."

No one had anything good to report when, hours later, they regrouped at CD's after the bar and grill had closed.

"'Nita didn't know anything else," Jimmy said. "She hadn't heard from Walker either and he never checked in at Amarillo. They were waiting to see if he would call in this evening. Captain's gonna make it official in the morning and start searching."

"She let me look at her computer records," Auguston added, "and none of the other agencies involved in the bust are missing their officers. All of them reported in as scheduled."

"Hendricks and Wallace are good fellas," CD told them. "I've worked with both before. Hendricks seemed to think the weather might have been at fault. Said they're experiencing a helluva snow storm. Half the northeast counties in New Mexico have neither power nor phone service at the storm hasn't let up yet. Wallace said road conditions had already deteriorated by the time they rounded up the last of the suspects and Walker doubled back to the state highway rather than coming through the panhandle in that mess."

"I came up empty as well," Alex said ruefully. "That DEA agent is a piece of work. He told me in no uncertain terms that he felt Walker had no business transporting that prisoner back to Dallas alone and that he would personally hold the DA's office responsible if the prisoner had escaped. I get the impression he wanted in on the interrogation in order to further his own career."

"It figures all he'd be worried about is his own skin," Jimmy growled.

"I also ran a check of the hospital records in all three states," Auguston reported. "None of them have a patient matching Walker's general description and there have been no recorded fatalities for a man matching his description either."

"Well, he_ has_ to be somewhere," Alex declared, exasperated and near tears. "What are we going to do about finding him?"

"Don't you worry your pretty head none, honey," CD comforted her. "He'll turn up. Hendricks said they'd get a chopper in the air and look for the truck as soon as the weather clears."

"I don't think we should wait that long," said Jimmy. "I'm going after him."

"Jimmy, you can't!" cried Alex. "If you leave the city, never mind crossing state lines, you'll be back behind bars in no time."

"She's right, Jimmy," admitted CD. "You can't go after Walker this time."

"I could," Auguston said quietly. "I'll talk to the Captain about the assignment first thing tomorrow morning."

"Why are you doing this?" Jimmy asked curiously. "From what I've heard, you don't like getting involved."

"Walker's been my role model ever since I was old enough to know I wanted to be a cop. Let's just say I owe it to him for personal reasons and leave it at that, okay?"

"No problem, man." Jimmy shook hands with him. "Just bring Walker back in one piece, okay?"

"You can count on it. 'night, Trivette." He tipped his hat to Alex before putting it back on and shrugging into the oilskin slicker. "Miss Cahill. I'll be in touch."

"Nothin' more we can do tonight," CD said after David Auguston left. "C'mon, let's lock up and then go home and get some sleep."

Company B Ranger Headquarters Dallas, Texas – the following day

David Auguston's face resembled a storm cloud when he exited the Captain's office and headed for Trivette's desk. "Just what we need, another one like Walker," one of the Rangers muttered as the young man pushed his way through. They'd heard the young Ranger and the Captain exchanging words even though the office door had been closed.

"Well?" said Trivette when Auguston reached his desk. "What happened?"

Auguston flashed a boyish grin. "You were right, Jimmy! I did just as you suggested. I told him in no uncertain terms that I work alone and didn't want to be stuck with a partner, especially someone _else's_ partner. The Captain not only ordered me to search for Walker but he specifically made your supervision part of the assignment."

"All right, man!" Jimmy jumped up and clapped the younger man on the back.

"There's just one condition and you're not going to like it," Auguston told him. "I don't like it much myself. You won't be allowed to carry your firearm. The Captain made it clear that you're in on this in a supervisory position only _and_ that I damned well _will_ carry the firearm I'm issued."

He was right; Jimmy didn't like going into any unknown situation without being armed. He suspected, however, that the Captain had reasons other than political for this request. "What's with you and firearms, David?" Jimmy asked. "I know you can use them because you wouldn't be here if you couldn't. You don't have any incidents on your record."

"It's a long story, one I'd rather not get into now," Auguston replied. "Let's start looking for Walker."

The two of them sat down at Trivette's desk. "Let's work this backwards from Walker's last known position," Jimmy suggested. "Bring up a map of the area."

Auguston whistled. "That's a lot of territory to cover. We're not going to get authorization to search unless we can narrow down the parameters."

"Tell me about it." Jimmy rocked back in his chair and thought about what little they knew regarding Walker's probable route of travel. "We know the bust took place in Kiowa National Grasslands, near the Oklahoma border, and that the distributers were either going to use the airport at Boise City or the one in Clayton. It's possible Walker would have had to pursue them outside the area cordoned off by the bust."

"Boise City is approximately forty miles away through some hard country. It would take over an hour to get there. Clayton, New Mexico is closer, just outside the area of the bust, and it has county roads going into it."

"Never knew a criminal to take the hard way if there was an easier one available," Jimmy said. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "I'm going to talk to Wallace again and see if he remembers which road Walker took out of the Grasslands."

"There's only one good road out of that godforsaken country," Wallace told Trivette over the phone. "Walker headed north, up state route 406. There's an old cow trail near Seneca which connects to 370 eventually and then empties out onto US 64, headed into Clayton."

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it."

"I hope you find him soon," Wallace responded. "Walker's a good cop."

"We'll find him," Jimmy promised. "Keep in touch if you learn anything before we do."

No sooner had he hung up the phone when the one on Auguston's desk rang. Auguston stared at it as if it were going to bite him. "Answer it," Jimmy hissed.

The phone conversation didn't take long and consisted mostly of Auguston nodding or occasionally saying "I see". He put the phone down, went to his computer, and began rapidly typing. "We've got a lead," he informed Jimmy. "That was a call from the sheriff's office over in Potter County. One of their radio operators relayed a message coming in from Trinidad possibly regarding a missing Ranger."

"Trinidad? That's in Colorado! Walker wasn't supposed to be anywhere near there…"

Auguston held up a hand to forestall further comment. "Now, don't jump to conclusions just yet. The _call sign_ of the radio operator who passed the message to the sheriff's office came from Trinidad. Take a look at what I turned up." He pointed to a web site displayed on the monitor. "Messages are relayed and exchanged by groups of operators all over the country, some of whom belong to organizations like this one. Call sign generally indicates the region from which the receiving operator originated. Sometimes the operators will keep logs of incoming messages but it's not required. Tracking down the original operator who sent the message could take a lot of time. I put in a request for assistance into our amateur radio club and they'll assist us as best we can but frankly, there may be no way to determine that information. At this point we don't even have the actual content of the message. Potter County's working on it."

Jimmy grabbed his hat and put on is sports coat. "Let's head to Amarillo. We can ask Alex to sit by the phone in case Walker does call in or the amateur radio club gets back to you with anything useful."

Potter County Sheriff's Office Amarillo, Texas

"We've been expecting you, Rangers," said the deputy behind the desk when Trivette and Auguston strode through the door. "If you'll have a seat, I'll bring out the radio operator who picked up the call."

"I'll handle the questions," Jimmy told Auguston. "You just hang back and see how it's done."

A few minutes later a petite dark haired Hispanic woman wearing a sheriff's uniform came down the hall. She shook hands with each of the Rangers. "I'm Maria Sanchez; I work the evening shift in dispatch and I was on duty when the message came in. I understand you have a missing Ranger?"

"James Trivette and this is my partner David Auguston," Jimmy responded. "Anything you can tell us about that message would be helpful in tracking it down and narrowing the search area."

"All received calls are recorded in this book." Maria opened a thin notebook with a canvas cover and pointed to an entry with one manicured nail. "The message you're interested in came in around 7:30 PM yesterday evening from a base unit in Trinidad, Colorado. This column here indicates the call sign of the operator passing on the message. The number in the call sign gives us a general idea of the region originating the signal, but that region can cover several states. As you can see, we were lucky enough that the operator identified his exact location and he relayed the location of the previous operator who handled the transmission."

Trivette all but pounced on _that_ piece of information. "You know the previous relay location? Do you know how many times it was relayed?"

The deputy shook her head. "As I said, the operator in Trinidad mentioned the previous relay location. That base unit was located near Taylor Springs, New Mexico. It's not possible to know how many other operators handled the message." Maria pointed to the second column. "The general contents of the message are logged there. We don't record amateur radio transmissions the way we do calls into dispatch."

Trivette studied what had been written there and frowned. "You're absolutely certain this is what was said?"

"It's possible the message was garbled along the way," Maria admitted, "but I _can_ be certain that's the message which was received here."

Auguston, forgetting Jimmy had told him to hang back and observe, peered over Trivette's shoulder to view the logbook. "We'd better get moving. It looks as though the prisoner Walker was transporting may have overpowered him and taken him hostage."

Jimmy nodded soberly. "This may be bigger than even DEA knows. We've got to get to him before the distributors do."

"Thanks, ma'am," said Auguston, tipping his hat and heading for the door.

"I'll drive," Jimmy said when they'd reached the parking lot. "Let's see if we can find that operator in Taylor Springs."

"I have an address," Auguston announced after querying his laptop. "What are you waiting for?"

Jimmy picked up his cell phone. "I'll phone it in, let Alex know where we're going."

Alex had news for them as well. "Hendricks said the storm is finally blowing itself out. They ought to be able to get a chopper in the air later today. His department also got a nibble from the APB. A convenience store clerk remembers seeing Walker's truck pass through at a place called Broken Springs three days before just before the storm broke. He said it didn't look like Walker was in any trouble, but…"

"Yeah, I know," said Jimmy. "David just pulled it up on the map and it's nearly one hundred miles in the opposite direction Walker was supposed to be traveling. We're on our way out to Taylor Springs and then we'll check that convenience store in Broken Springs. It's just up the road from the first town. Alex…you need to prepare yourself for the fact that this bust may have been bigger than anyone anticipated and that the distributors may have Walker. The radio message didn't sound promising."

"I know." Alex's voice cracked and the line went silent as she struggled with her emotions. "Just find him and get him back here, okay?"

"We'll do our best." He put the cell phone away, turned the key in the ignition, and headed for the New Mexico state line.

A Private Home in an Upper Class Neighborhood Amarillo, Texas – later the same day

His adjutant knocked politely on the door to the study before entering. He let the man stand there, nervously shifting from foot to foot, while he lit a cigarette and poured himself a glass of congac. He took a sip, appreciating its smooth smoky taste, and then said without turning around, "You have news, Wilson?"

"Yes, Mr. Belmonte. The deputy in the sheriff's office we paid off called in. There are a couple of Rangers sniffing around. Apparently after they helped bust your operation in New Mexico, one of their guys went missing while transporting our cook. The deputy wasn't able to erase all traces of the radio message that came in. They're holed up on some farm outside of Broken Springs with a Navajo woman who spent some time in Cottonwood until her family bought her out. That little snip of a radio operator --- Maria, I think her name is --- gave them the information she did have. It's only a matter of time before the Rangers figure out where that farm is."

"What!" Adrian Belmonte shot up out of his chair and cast his wine glass down in a fit of temper. The glass shattered on the flagstones and the remaining congac caused the flames in the fireplace to flare. "Bad enough that I lose one of my major operations to the Rangers but if they have that cook and the woman is able to translate for him, they'll trace the operation back to Cottonwood and we'll be finished."

"If you'll permit me, sir, I believe I can exercise damage control. The woman is a cripple and the farm is in the middle of nowhere. If we can get to them before the Rangers do, we can simply eliminate the problem. Besides, as I understand it, the Ranger is in bad shape and may not live much longer anyhow. It would be a simple matter to eliminate those who are searching for him."

"Do it, Wilson. I want those Rangers and witnesses dead. Kill the deputy and the radio operator as well. Leave no one alive who might incriminate us."


	7. Come a Little Closer

**Author's Notes: ** No, I am **NOT **pairing Walker up with Kathy, although that would have been theoretically possible at this point since Alex and he were not officially together yet. The song simply sets the emotional tone for this chapter. Their relationship is on a different level, more close to that of a father and daughter.

The information about ground water, drinking water, and well water contaminants is based on facts found at New Mexico's Drinking Water Bureau and from the Environmental Protection Agency.

Kathy Mustang Talker is my intellectual property. Both are loose composites of several real-life friends with similar disabilities. All other characters belong to the creators of Walker, Texas Ranger and I am just borrowing them for my personal entertainment. This is my first fan-fic and I've never managed to view the entire series so I hope I can be forgiven any inconsistencies.

**What Price Humanity Chapter 7 – Come a Little Closer**

"_Come a little closer, baby_

_I feel like layin' you down_

_On a bed sweet surrender_

_Where we can work it all out_

_There ain't nothin' that love can't fix_

_Girl, it's right here at our fingertips_

_So come a little closer baby,_

_I feel like layin' you down"_

**-----"**Come a Little Closer" performed by Dierks Bentley

Sangre De Christo foothills, Mustang Talker Ranch – two days earlier

Walker came back to himself slowly. Things had stopped making sense quite a while ago but he gradually became aware of someone singing nearby. He had the odd feeling he ought to recognize either the singer or the song. It held elements of both chant and song, familiar in its cadences but not its language. He opened gritty, light sensitive eyes to see who the singer was.

The woman sitting beside him wore the clothing of a Navajo rancher. Besides the wine red blouse and denim skirt, she wore an elaborate turquoise and silver necklace made in the shape of a sunburst and a shawl woven in figures and patterns which seemed to dance and move as she breathed. Scattered about the room were many candles and the smell of burning sage permeated the air. She held a gourd rattle in her hand and somewhere beyond his field of vision a drum was being played. Her long red-brown hair had come down out of its scarf and tumbled past her shoulders.

Everything hurt; head, joints, throat, lungs --- Walker alternated between being too hot and too cold. He closed his eyes to rest them and then opened them again when he felt a cool hand upon his forehead or gently patting his arm. He tried to tell the woman --- more of a girl, really --- that she didn't need to worry about him but it proved simply too exhausting. He closed his eyes again and felt himself drifting away from the pain and misery. Walker couldn't get far however; the chanting held him there, kept him from returning to the place of which he'd dreamed. The tone of the chant changed, as though she had noticed him drifting, and he felt himself being pulled back into his body.

When next he awakened, he still ached all over but he wasn't so terribly cold and didn't feel as though he were drifting outside himself any longer. He opened his eyes experimentally and found the room lit only by a banked fireplace. The woman seemed to have fallen asleep. Walker's questing hand moved to stroke the red brown tresses. "Kathy," he whispered as his fingers brushed her face.

She jerked her head up immediately, an expression of surprise and relief on her face. "Walker! Oh, Ranger Walker, I'm so glad you're back with us! How do you feel?"

"Like the seventh mile of six miles of bad fence." It cost him tremendous effort to speak and Walker lay back against the pillows panting.

"Well, you've had a rough time of it. Hang on a moment and I'll get you something to drink. You must be thirsty." Kathy went over to the hearth, upon which a kettle hung, and poured the contents into a mug. "Try this." She held it for him so he could drink. The mug held a rich broth, heavily laced with herbs. He'd only taken a few sips before his stomach roiled in protest and he had to turn his head away.

"What's wrong with me?" Walker asked. He'd been hurt before, sometimes seriously enough to need hospitalization, but he was rarely ill and it never lasted long. His condition alarmed him; Cordell Walker simply did not succumb to illness.

"New Mexico occasionally has problems with its water supply. Since we're largely dependent upon snowmelt and rain water, certain kinds of contaminants are unavoidable. That's why, when the well for this place was drilled, I insisted on an artesian well. Fortunately there's a small pocket of spring water in the bedrock. It's adequate enough for my needs and hasn't ever run dry, even when there's drought."

"How did I get here?"

"You would know better than me," Kathy said, chuckling. "I went out at dawn to feed and water my livestock three days ago and found the two of you half frozen in my driveway."

He still couldn't clearly remember what had happened to his truck. A brief image of sliding off the road crossed his mind and then dissipated when he tried to examine the memory more closely. "I don't recall much," Walker admitted. "I pulled into a rest area near Clayton to get the prisoner in out of the cold because it had started snowing. Where is he?"

Kathy gestured toward the hallway. "I sent John off to get some sleep. He's been caring for my livestock and replenishing the wood and kindling while I tended you. Don't worry," she explained, putting a restraining hand on Walker's chest as he struggled to sit up, "I only unlocked the handcuffs; he's still shackled so he's not going anywhere, even if he wanted to do so."

"Why'd you do that? He was cuffed for a reason, you know."

"Walker…he speaks with his hands. It wouldn't have been possible to understand him without removing the handcuffs. As it was, I damned near shot him because he wasn't able to respond!"

"It's not American Sign Language." Walker's tone indicated he felt badly about having been unable to recognize the prisoner's gestures as an attempt to communicate.

"No, it's not. Don't criticize yourself too harshly; there aren't many who left who would have recognized it." Kathy brushed the sandy red-highlighted hair back from Walker's blue eyes. Her voice held a trace of humor as she responded, taking in his appearance, "Somehow, I would not expect you to understand the Navajo language or its hand signs."

"You're right," Walker said tiredly. "Cherokee and Navajo don't share a common source."

"Cherokee?" Kathy asked curiously.

"My father was a full-blooded Cherokee. I grew up on the reservation," Walker responded tonelessly.

"Then you ought to be receptive to the man's predicament. I don't know much about what you were doing out here, but I believe you may have a witness rather than a criminal in custody."

"Does he speak English at all?"

"'He' has a name, Ranger Walker," Kathy reminded him tartly. "It's Big John Quail and no, I haven't heard him speak much English. He seems to be hard of hearing, if not completely deaf. Most of our conversations have been in Navajo and hand sign. I can translate for you."

"I'd be obliged. I have a feeling he's been trying to tell me some important things I've been missing since I picked him up."

"He's told me a bit about his situation, but I think you ought to hear it all from him. That case you were working on may involve more than an isolated drug bust."

Walker would have liked to keep her talking so that he could learn more about his situation and figure out a course of action but he was starting to feel poorly again. He could still feel the tide of nausea rising and he didn't really want to be sick. He clamped his mouth shut on a groan and shuddered.

"You all right, Walker?" Kathy asked, concerned. He managed a small negative gesture. She was instantly at his side. "Just a few sips, if you can, Walker," she told him. "It'll help, I promise." She patiently spooned some sort of thick, honey laced liquid into his mouth. It didn't take away all of the pain or the coppery taste in Walker's mouth but it did calm his stomach and ease his breathing.

Walker settled back into the cushions and burrowed into the blankets. "I'm kinda tired," he told her. "We'll talk more later, okay?"

"Go to sleep, Walker. I'll be here when you wake."

"You get some rest too," Walker said. He didn't want the kid wearing herself out because of him.

"I have a few things to take care of first. Let me see to your hands, please." She tended them one at a time, unwinding the gauze and then soaking each in a basin of warm salty water in which marigold petals had been steeped. "You made a real mess of them but they'll heal up just fine," Kathy assured him as she dressed the hands with ointment and a fresh application of gauze. _Of course, I'm not sure about the rest of him, but he doesn't need to know that right now. It's best not to even think about it._

"Been hurt worse," Walker muttered sleepily. "Never stopped me from doing my job before." _Until now_.

_Stubborn son of a…_ That seemed to be a reoccurring theme when referring to Walker. "You're neither perfect nor indestructible, Ranger. Please… let's not push the issue."_ Because I'll be damned if I will be the one to tell your people you died. I don't _ever_ want to be in that position again_. "You ought to be in a hospital but until power and phone service are restored, there's not much I can do about that."

He read the naked fear in her eyes and something more. "You've lost someone important to you before. Want to talk about it?" _What isn't she telling me? Why is she so afraid for me?_

"Please, Ranger Walker, leave it alone. I don't want to discuss it." Kathy stood too quickly and her vision swam. _I didn't realize I was so tired_. She put out a hand to steady herself but his question had disturbed her equilibrium. Her bad leg gave out on her and she fell forward against him. "Damn it! Excuse me, Walker, I didn't mean…."

"You okay?" Walker asked.

"Yeah," Kathy responded quickly. _If the stubborn fool decides I need help and tries to get up, I'm not certain I can get either one of us back on the couch again. _"I… I'm more tired than I realized, that's all." She couldn't quite keep the tears from spilling off her lashes and down her cheeks. _Snap out of it, Kathy. He's going to ask about your family sooner or later. You'll have to tell him some time that the entire pueblo was wiped out because the Bureau of Indian Affairs refused to do anything about the contaminants being deliberately dumped into the water._

_I didn't mean to make her cry. Why do I always seem to have that effect on women I care about?_ Walker wondered. "Kathy," said Walker softly, "come here." He pulled her toward him until she lay with her head on his shoulder. Walker stroked her hair and murmured, "It'll be all right. C'mon, lay down with me and we'll both get some sleep."

No one had touched her or offered her comfort in a long time. Kathy had made it a point in her young life to demonstrate that she needed no one's affections; too many of those offerings had been gestures of pity rather than genuine caring about her feelings. _I guided him through the Nightways, long enough to know the man's basic character. I don't think Walker would play those kinds of games_. _Besides, I _am_ tired. I can keep watch over him just as easily this way and the other chores will wait a few hours._ "All right," she consented and curled up against him.

The couch _was _barely wide enough for two but she neatly filled the space at his side. It felt oddly comforting to have her so near and reminded him of a half wild kitten he'd had at the ranch once which had insisted on sleeping in the small of his back. He put his arms around her and continued softly stroking her hair. "Comfortable?" Walker asked.

Kathy nodded. "Most of my family dances with the ancestors now," she whispered sleepily, answering his earlier question. "I loved a lawman once but when the Gulf War started, he felt he had to go and he never came home. People who care about me disappear out of my life. The rest want something from me, usually something I don't care to give. Walker, don't you _dare_ die on me! Don't you even _dare_!"

Some of her words could have been spoken directly from his own heart; Walker felt the connection of one kindred soul to another with this Navajo girl. _Don't make promises you can't keep, not with this one. _"To hear some of the younger Rangers or my partner Trivette talk, you'd think I was unkillable," he told her with a lopsided grin. He tried to laugh but it turned into a coughing fit. He had to wait until it had passed before he could speak again. "I have no intention of dying, Kathy. I'm sure I'll be fine, given enough time." _Assuming I _have_ that kind of time_. He could tell he was pretty torn up inside and, if he _were_ being honest, he felt terrible.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Ranger Walker."

Walker kept stroking her hair until the exhausted girl fell asleep. Only then did he settle down and, with her cradled I his arms as one would a child, fall asleep himself.


	8. Institution Green

**Author's Notes**: Thanks so much for the reviews! They help keep me going and they're much appreciated.

I have, in this chapter, made reference to the episode "On Deadly Ground" (29 January 1994) and expanded upon some of the contents of that episode in order to capture more of Walker's internal thought processes.

All conversations between Kathy and John Quail should be assumed to be in Navajo and hand sign. Also assume that Kathy translates for John when Walker is talking so that he is not left out of the conversation.

The Cottonwood Facility does not exist. The conditions there are, however, based on historical documentation of the Canton Insane Asylum for American Indians once located in Canton, North Dakota.

I _have not_ to my knowledge used a call sign which is currently in use. The base station call sign belongs to my deceased grandfather and has been used in tribute to him and the other is made up.

A quick and dirty run down of "Q" codes:

**CQ**: The amateur radio equivalent of shouting "Hey, anyone out there?"

**QTH**: location, either latitude and longitude or informally town name and state

**QSL**: respond, acknowledgment of response

**QSP**: relay

**QSB**: signal fade or informally signal noise

**QRO**: boost signal, use maximum power

**QRX**: wait, stand by, give me a moment

**QSX**: ready

**QTX**: remain at station/will you remain on your station

**QRT**: shutting down, leaving the frequency

**73**: the equivalent of "my compliments" or "best regards"

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 8 – Institution Green**

"_Institution green_

_The walls are cracked and dim_

_And we are standing in a line_

_Waiting for our faces to be seen_

"_Institution green_

_Watch the floor and count the hours_

_None will meet my eyes_

_Private people in this public place_

"_I wonder if they'll take a look_

_Find my name inside that book_

_Lose me on the printed page_

_Where to point the aimless rage"_

**-----** "Institution Green" performed by Suzanne Vega

Sangre De Christos Foothills, Mustang Talker Ranch – the following day

A change, recognized first by her subconscious mind, woke Kathy from a deep sleep. Her internal clock told her several hours had passed and the wind outside had slackened. She disengaged Walker's arm from around her shoulders and sat up carefully so she wouldn't disturb him. He stirred restlessly and murmured her name. "Still here," she said softly, patting his arm. "Go back to sleep, Walker."

She heard the sound of shuffling boots behind her and John Quail came in, arms loaded with fire wood and kindling. He'd gotten rid of the prison jumpsuit and had changed into the spare clothing she'd left in the guest bedroom for him. He piled the logs up beside the fireplace and then began to rebuild the fire. "Good morning, Kathy," he said. "How is our Ranger?"

"Pretty much the same," she said, "but he's stable. He will want to talk to you when he feels a little better. I told him what I could last night when he woke but he really ought to hear the full story from you. What's the weather like today?"

"It's still coming down ---slow, steady snowfall --- but I think the storm is breaking up and may move out later this afternoon.. The foothills of the Sangre De Christos are visible this morning."

"And the livestock?" Today the mere thought of having to slog across the barnyard through the snow and the cold sent needles of pain through her body.

John smiled. "I took care of both the horses and the cattle. There's a wild mustang herd down off the ranges so I shut the south gate and put some hay out in the pasture. That ought to keep them out of the corrals."

"Smart thinking," Kathy told him. "Otherwise the two herds will fight one another for fodder. I'm not in the mood to repair fence that's been kicked down or vet an injured stallion." _I already have one of _those _in human form sleeping on my couch. Coyote love me, but I simply couldn't cope with one in animal form as well._ She blinked in surprise and then beamed a broad smile at John when he handed her a steaming mug of fresh coffee. "John Quail, I could just kiss you!"

The big man actually blushed. "I'd rather you didn't. I'm just trying to make things as easy as possible for you. I can see you're tired." He politely didn't comment on the marked weakness of her bad leg but Kathy knew he'd seen her fall at least once. "Take care of the Ranger; I've got breakfast covered too."

"Thanks." Kathy sang softly while she ground the herbs she needed for his treatment. She hadn't done that with the last batch and hoped to increase potency and effectiveness through a more concentrated infusion. She emptied the contents of the mortar into the kettle and left the herbs to steep. While she waited, she sat beside Walker and kept singing to him. She sang him the story of Coyote killing the giant, of Changing Woman and how she created the world, of Crow's antics in the dance circle. She heard John behind her in the kitchen chanting refrains for each song as he beat the batter for the pancakes. _Not completely deaf, then. _A short while later the aroma of frying bacon, vanilla, and maple syrup filled the room.

"You'd better eat something," John said as he pushed a full plate and silverware in front of her. He sat down in Kathy's rocking chair and attacked his own meal.

"Oh," Kathy responded, distracted, "I suppose so…" Her mind wasn't on breakfast. _Walker won't survive without medical attention for a week; too much time has already gone by without treatment. If only I had a way to get a message out._ She considered saddling one of the horses and riding out as soon as the storm cleared but it wouldn't resolve their problems. Broken Springs didn't have any facilities except the convenience store and the post office, both of which would probably also be without power and phone service.

"Kathy," came Walker's voice from the blankets, low but in a tone of command she couldn't easily ignore, "your breakfast is getting cold. You _will_ eat or I'm gonna feed it to you and you won't like it."

Startled, she dropped her fork and it fell with a clatter onto the plate. "I hadn't realized you were awake." She saw the expression on his face, a dangerous looking smile with steely eyes. "I do believe you're serious about that threat!"

"Better do what the Ranger says," John told her through a mouthful of eggs. "The last time he turned that look on me I found myself eating dirt while he trussed me up like a renegade calf."

"Oh…um…" Wide-eyed, Kathy quickly took a bite of her pancakes. The food _did_ taste good and it occurred to her that she couldn't remember the last full meal she'd eaten since the two men showed up in her driveway.

"What did he say?" Walker demanded. He didn't like not being able to understand his prisoner's language; it placed him at a significant disadvantage.

"John says I'd better do what you ask because you mean business. Did you really tie him up and then chain him in the back of your truck?"

"I did," Walker admitted, a bit embarrassed. "I might have suffered a small lapse in good judgment."

Kathy tossed her hands upwards in surrender. "All right, Ranger, I give up!" she laughed. "I'm eating, I'm eating."

"You know," Walker mused, "this is not the first time I've 'misplaced' my truck."

"It's not?" Kathy asked, baffled. _Just how do you misplace a half ton pick-up truck?_ She pointed her fork in his direction. "Thereby must hang a tale. Spill it, Ranger Walker!"

Walker carefully considered how much of the story he could tell, given the fact that he had a potential suspect in a similar case listening. The DEA had orchestrated that operation too, but the agent had been a trusted friend rather than that paper pushing control freak Lafayette. "Well," he drawled, "there was a time not too long ago when I still didn't particularly care one way or the other if I lived to see the next day. I made more than a few 'minor' lapses in judgment in those days." He smiled, reminiscing. "CD --- that's my former partner and an old friend --- called them conniption fits. Trivette used to call it looking for trouble…."

_His DEA friend had gotten himself in to quite a fix. When Walker got the news, Alex had known exactly what he would try to do. The expression on his face told the story more eloquently than words: he blamed himself for his friend's abduction and he was going to make it right somehow. Anyone getting in his way was in for a hard time or serious injury, whichever came first._

"_Walker…they have to be pulling out all the stops to find him,"_ _she had told him. _Why does he always have to be so stubborn? It's almost as though the man deliberately courts danger hoping that one day he won't come out on top. _She had fixed a stern, no-nonsense expression on her face to cover her worries about his safety and sanity. "Don't give me that look. This is out of our jurisdiction." _Haven't I told him that before? He's not going to listen this time either. Stubborn son of a…. _"Please, just let the Feds handle it."_

_He hadn't bothered answering her, had simply turned on his heel and stormed over to the federal building to have a conversation with his friend's superior. The federal agent had informed him in no uncertain terms that the Rangers, and Walker in particular, needed to stay out of it. With no other option left to him, Walker had gone back to Company B Headquarters, tersely informed the Captain he would be taking vacation time…and had deliberately left his badge behind on the desk. He had then headed back to the ranch, saddled Amigo, and gone on a long ride so he could sort out his options._

_Morning found him loading the pick-up and talking to Uncle Ray while Trivette tried to talk him into either aborting his self appointed mission or taking him along._

"_You've got enough stuff to take out an army, man," Trivette had commented as he handed Walker a length of rope._

"_May need it," Walker responded cryptically and then had asked his partner to hand him a box of ammunition._

"_Then I should go along," Trivette argued. He considered himself Walker's friend, whether Walker wanted one or not, and he didn't feel comfortable allowing his partner to confront whatever dangers lay ahead alone._

"_Not your fight." Nonetheless, Walker felt touched by the young man's dedication. He wished he could say what he really meant, that he wasn't certain of the outcome of this self-appointed crusade and if he got himself killed he wanted Trivette safely out of harm's way. He simply didn't have the right to endanger the life of someone he cared about._

Stubborn son of a… _"Uncle Ray," Trivette had pleaded, "are you going to help me out?"_

_The old gentleman had simply shaken his head and continued helping load the truck. "When Washo makes up his mind, no one can change it."_

_At that point, Alex's convertible had rumbled to a stop in the front driveway and the assistant district attorney had stalked forward to confront him. "Walker…what in the world do you think you're doing?" she'd stormed. She knew what he was doing, but she still hoped to stop him before this little escapade ended in either his death or his arrest._

"_Going on vacation," he told her and flashed a humorless smile._

"_You're going across the border," she'd stated in disbelief._

"_Your badge doesn't mean anything down there," Trivette continued earnestly. "You've got no back-up. It's like marching into the mouth of Hell."_

_Walker slammed the tailgate shut and got into the pick-up. "Wouldn't be the first time," he muttered. _And it probably won't be the last, if I live to tell about this one.

"_Uncle Ray…" Alex pleaded._

"_I'm out of this, I'm going to make some tea," the old man said and went up the porch steps into the ranch house._

"_I'll send you a postcard," he'd told them both and winked as he started the engine and pulled away._

"Walker," Kathy said reprovingly, "wipe that grin off your face. It couldn't have been very easy for your friends to watch you driving off to endanger your life like that."

"I knew Trivette wouldn't leave it alone," he said. "That's just the kind of man my partner is. The two of us can handle just about anything and this situation proved to be no exception…."

_Trivette _had _followed him down to Mexico. They had, of course, gotten into an argument over it but since he couldn't convince Trivette to go home he had ended up letting his partner help him with the rescue operation. They'd enlisted the aid of an operative already in place and had breeched the captors' fortress._

"The plan still would have failed entirely," Walker told his enthralled audience, "if it hadn't been for Trivette's knowledge of modern technology. We were down a man because the drug lords had gotten to him first and it was Trivette's idea to rig the guns and ammunition with remote timers…"

_There'd been a brief but intense scuffle after the remote explosions took care of most of the guards and Walker had been able to free his friend. By morning, they had called in the _federales_ to take custody of the criminals. He and Trivette were ready to head back across the border. By then, they were dead tired as neither of them had had much sleep._

"_All right, so where'd we park the truck?" Trivette had asked._

"_I don't know," Walker said with a confused look. He scanned the grounds but didn't see his pick-up anywhere. "It all looks different at night."_

"_You don't remember?" Trivette had asked incredulously. Walker loved that truck; he would no sooner misplace it than he would his gun._

"_Well, it's not like I didn't have other things on my mind," he'd snapped, exasperated. _ _"Where is that dadgum truck?"_

John signed something and Kathy laughed, translating, "Ranger Walker, a pick-up truck is not a horse. It doesn't have a mind of its own and won't wander off if you don't hobble it."

"This one has a mind of its own," Walker insisted.

"Where did you finally find it?" Kathy asked.

"I'd parked it in a ravine about two miles from the compound," Walker answered. "We must have walked by it at least three times before Trivette spotted the tire marks. He's never let me forget about it either."

When they'd finished breakfast, the dishes were done, and she'd given Walker his tea, Kathy sat down in the rocking chair and motioned for John Quail to join them. He came forward hesitantly and then seated himself on the floor near her feet. "If you're up to it, Ranger Walker, the two of you ought to talk. If you'll both have a little patience I can translate."

"I'm listening," said Walker.

John Quail nodded slowly and began. "One thing needs made perfectly clear before I go any further," he signed. "I'm hard of hearing, not stupid. People assume I'm stupid because I don't talk and I'm such a big guy. That assumption is what will put Adrian Belmonte and his adjutant Wilson behind bars."

"Adrian Belmonte? Are you sure about that name?" Walker asked. "We had no idea he was involved in this operation."

"I'm quite familiar with Belmonte Industries," added Kathy, tight lipped. "They're the ones responsible for deliberate contamination of the ground water."

"Representatives also periodically come to the reservation and the pueblos to 'hire' people and to provide 'schooling' for the handicapped," John explained. "Both Kathy and I had the dubious privilege of being selected for the Cottonwood facility. Kathy, however, was lucky enough to have some family left willing to buy out her contract. I wasn't so lucky."

Walker's head was spinning and not just because of his illness. "You're talking about the buying and selling of human beings," he realized. "I think you'd better tell me everything you know about Belmonte's operations, son."

John looked pleadingly up at Kathy. His eyes said plainly what his hands could not: _I don't want to do this_. "No one will judge you," Kathy said with a glare in Walker's direction which said he damned well _better _not. "You have to tell Ranger Walker what happened, John." She placed a hand reassuring hand on the big man's shoulder. "I know those memories are painful but if it will help nail the guys who did those things to us or stop them from doing it again---"

"It would help a lot," Walker broke in. "I promise if it's in my power to do so, I'll get them. You have my word as a Ranger on that."

"I don't know where to begin!" he signed helplessly, angry with himself for not being able to communicate more efficiently.

"Start at the beginning," Kathy suggested. "Tell Walker about your family and how you were brought to the Cottonwood facility."

He took a deep steadying breath, collected his thoughts, and with Kathy's help began to tell Ranger Walker everything he'd wanted to say in the first place. "My mother was of the Hopi, my father of the Navajo. Their marriage wasn't sanctioned by either tribe because of the longstanding disputes and rivalries between them and that meant we had no family but one another. They died in a car accident when I was five years old. That same accident left me hard of hearing. Neither set of tribal elders wanted to bother much with me but I was fostered out until the next time Belmonte's representatives came around.

"The Hopi in particular haven't fared as well as some of the other tribes when it comes to enforcing treaty rights and monetary community support. Belmonte would send a team of "teachers" and several heads of various corporate departments out to the reservation once or twice a year to talk to the families. They would pay the families a hiring fee or a stipend to take off their hands those who were disabled or those who were unlucky enough to be unemployed. Most of them were either children or young men with families to support. Once the families signed the contract, we might as well have been property. My foster family readily agreed to send me away; I wasn't kin to them and my parents had an unsanctioned marriage so it just didn't matter…" John ceased signing and sat for a moment, his hands motionless and his face a mask of remembered tragedy.

"John." Kathy's voice intruded gently into his thoughts. "You didn't say…what was your father's clan name?"

"Pinto Runner," he responded absently. "His family were horse ranchers. My father always thought if something happened to him and my mother that his clan would accept me, but I guess he was wrong about that."

"We would be kin then," Kathy responded, "most likely cousins. Pinto Runners and Mustang Talkers come from the same pueblo." She stood up, walked over to the sliding glass doors and gazed out at the falling snow. "I owe you and apology on behalf of the clan. Your father was right. If we had known about you, we would have come for you as well. But we didn't," she ranted bitterly, "because there aren't many Mustang Talkers or Pinto Runners left. Belmonte saw to that."

"What do you mean by that, Kathy?" Walker asked.

"I told you New Mexico has a problem with various contaminants in its ground water supply. No one who survived the initial poisoning could prove it, but we Mustang Talkers are convinced Belmonte Industries is behind some of the chemical spills, especially those on reservation lands. Our incidence of birth defects and other handicaps has skyrocketed ever since the Bureau of Indian Affairs negotiated that contract with Belmonte Industries. They were supposed to be developing natural gas assets but I would suspect the corporation may be engaging in illegal dumping. My entire family, with the exception of one aunt and uncle, died in the initial poisonings. I don't think it was accidental."

Walker gave a low whistle. "This is a much bigger problem than anyone in the Rangers or DEA knew. This sounds like the corruption goes all the way up to the top and it may be difficult to get the local authorities to cooperate without tipping them off. I think, Kathy, you ought to consider coming back to Dallas with me until we've nailed Belmonte and shut down his operation completely. Your life could be in danger if you stay here."

Kathy shook her head. "I can't do that, Ranger Walker. I have livestock which needs taken care of. This little ranch may not be much, but it's all I've got and the only home I know. My family," she concluded with difficulty, "is buried here. I can't abandon them."

"At least promise me you'll consider it," Walker said. "John, can you tell me any more about Belmonte's operation at the Cottonwood facility? That may provide legitimate reason for the Rangers to get involved. It's located in Dallas, isn't it?"

John nodded slowly and began signing so quickly Kathy barely managed to keep up with him. "I will be telling you about conditions so deplorable they should never exist and about atrocities committed so foul not even the least of human beings should have to endure them. Are you sure you're up to hearing about this, Ranger?"

"I can't help if I don't know what I'm up against, John. Don't worry about my reaction to it; just take it slow and tell me what you think I need to know."

"The Cottonwood facility isn't a school for the disabled or a vocational training facility," John explained. "We were told that we belonged to the company until such time as our bonds --- the money they paid our families --- were paid off. You can't pay off what you don't know you owe; this was never explained to most of them. They tried strip to us of any individual or cultural identity whenever possible. English was the only language allowed but they didn't teach it. People of differing tribes were put together in the groups so that no one could communicate well enough to coordinate an information system or plan escapes. A few of those Belmonte Industries netted were genuinely too disabled or deranged to be of any use. These he locked in small rooms with no furniture and minimal stimulation. Sometimes the guards forgot to feed them or take care of their other needs and they died horribly.

"The rest were grouped by age and sex, given maintenance chores, and assigned to a dormitory. If the guards didn't like the way we'd done a job or if we didn't finish we didn't get to eat that day. Meals were sporadic anyhow. More died for want of decent nutrition and warm clothing than from anything else. For a while, Wilson had a teacher in for the younger ones. I learned enough to read basic instructions and to write my name but that was it.

"When I turned fifteen, we were separated out into new groups. Belmonte himself came and took those girls who were pretty enough and sent them to work in his club. I heard rumors that the club was also somewhere in Dallas but its name was never mentioned. The guards always referred to it as 'the filly farm'.

"The supervisors started all of us out on assembly lines putting together pieces which went to who-knew-what. They purposely separated each station so that no one person knew what was being manufactured. Some of the parts looked like they might belong to firearms or weapons.

"The adjutant --- his name was Wilson--- noticed I had a knack for measurements and I graduated to the chemical division. He worked me at every station in the process and when I'd learned them all, I became their primary cook. Because I'm good with measurements, I could guarantee an extremely pure and potent product." John hung his head. "I'm not proud of that, Ranger Walker, but I couldn't see any way out of the situation. I tried escaping a few times but they always brought me back, beat me badly, and then starved me to ensure I wouldn't have the strength to try it again. My last attempt was right before the raid. I still have the marks of the beating on me."

"Kathy, you got a camera?" Walker asked.

"I do," Kathy admitted, "but what ---"

"Go and get it. I want pictures," Walker explained, "as evidence. It may help plead John's case with the DA's office."

"I'm not going to embarrass him by exposing his injuries as though he was a piece of beef," she said primly. "John, come with me and we'll get this over with."

They were gone longer than Walker thought it should have taken to find a camera and take photographs. When they returned, Kathy looked a trifle ill and John had a guarded expression on his face which Walker couldn't interpret. Wordlessly she set the digital camera down on the coffee table before flopping limply in her rocking chair. John sat quietly in one of the easy chairs looking at his hands. Considering their reactions, Walker felt certain he would be better off not viewing the contents of the camera just yet. Instead, he decided to address their unspoken concerns.

"What you told me presents a problem." Walker wished his head were clearer. He needed to be able to reason things out and think fast. Lives were at stake. "They're going to want you back and they're going to come after you."

"I know." John spoke those words in English, with effort.

"What will happen to him when you take him in?" Kathy asked.

"Technically, John has committed a crime. Unfortunately he'll probably have to spend time in jail until the court can review the evidence. After that, it depends upon the judge hearing the case. I intend to get Alex --- she's the deputy district attorney for Tarrant County --- in on this as soon as I can get back to Dallas. She'll make sure John gets a fair trial." Walker sighed and closed his eyes. His head had begun aching again sometime during their conversations and now the pain felt almost unbearable. He found breathing difficult because his chest felt like someone had piled stones upon it and his stomach was killing him.

John rose and excused himself. "I ought to check on the livestock and feed them."

"Want to talk about it?" Walker asked, seeing Kathy's troubled expression.

"I hate seeing him chained like that," she exclaimed as she sat down beside him. "It's not right, not after…." She gestured to the digital camera. "His back is a bloody mess," she whispered. "He's been flogged with something that had barbed tips or sharp edges. I cleaned it up, but it will scar badly."

"John's not a flight risk. I'll unshackle him as soon as he comes back."

"No," said Kathy, noticing his discomfort, "you will not. You've overtired yourself. I shouldn't have let the conversation go for as long as it did. You all right, Walker?"

"Not really." He didn't like admitting that but he felt too bad to argue about it. Walker tried to suppress a shiver, gave it up, and lay trembling under her gentle touch. "I'm gonna be sick again…" Kathy held him, murmuring sympathetically while he heaved and struggled with his body until nothing else would come up. Afterwards, she helped him clean up and rinse his mouth before tucking the blankets back around him. Walker dropped off into a fevered sleep shortly afterwards.

John found her still sitting next to the Ranger with her legs tucked under her while she soothed him by absently stroking Walker's hair. "He's not doing well?"

Kathy shook her head. "He's exhausted and the fever is rising again. I don't dare give him anything else but he needs fluids badly. We've got to find a way to get him out of here!"

"I saw an old Kenwood radio station back there in the spare bedroom," John said. "Is it functional?"

"It would be if the power were on or if the generator were running," Kathy said. "It's useless to us otherwise."

John grinned. "Not if I can rig it to run for a brief moment on battery back-up."

"I thought you said you weren't a mechanic."

"I'm not. Fixing the generator is beyond my skills but I _did_ spend some time at Cottonwood working with electronics. We'd only need about five minutes of broadcast time. Want me to take a look?"

"See what you can do. One more thing…" She tossed him the keys to the shackles. John caught them, a surprised look on his broad face. "Ranger Walker's orders."

"Thanks!" John unlocked the shackles, stepped out of them, and then headed toward the back room. He came back out several times to ask for items which mystified Kathy: a tool kit, the batteries out of two of the big flashlights, a ladle, and soldering wire.

Half an hour later she heard the crackle of the old set as it warmed up. Walker was sleeping peacefully for the moment; she risked leaving him to creep down the hall and check on John's progress. The dials on the receiver and transmitter glowed with an eerie blue-green light in the darkness. "You did it!" she exclaimed and this time she _did_ kiss him on the cheek.

"You'd better send your message," John told her. "I don't know how long the battery power will last. Those batteries weren't meant to be used in that manner."

Kathy sat down at the desk, dialed in the correct frequency and keyed open the microphone. "CQ, CQ. This is WB0YXU, QTH twelve miles out of Broken Springs, New Mexico. Please QSL if receiving. I have an emergency message for QSP."

For a moment she and John heard only static. Then, faint but clear, came a response through the static. "Roger, WB0YXU. This is WB4KTH, QTH Taylor Springs, New Mexico. There's QSB in your signal, can you QRO?"

"QRX, WB4KTH. I'll try." She flipped the mike closed and turned to John. "Is there any way we can get more power out of this thing?"

"I wouldn't try it," he advised. "You might blow one of the tubes in the unit or completely drain the battery."

"All right." She keyed open the mike again and responded, "Negatory, WB4KTH. We're on battery back-up here. Stand by to QSP if you're willing."

"Roger, WB0YXU. QSX, go ahead."

"I have a Texas Ranger named Walker here with me, out of Company B in Dallas. His situation is serious and requires medical attention. I need to get someone out here and inform his people of his whereabouts."

"Read you loud and clear. Do you have a contact name?"

"Trivette. Uncertain if that is a first or last name but it's his partner."

"QSL, WB0YXU. Will QSP this message ASAP down Dallas way. Are you able to QTX for response?"

"Negatory, WB4KTH. I'll have to power down as soon as we're done here. I'm QRT."

"73's, WB0YXU. I'll make sure you get what you need."

With a sigh, Kathy powered down the Kenwood. Seeing John's puzzled look, she explained, "That operator will relay the message down to Dallas and then someone there will hopefully get the message to Company B headquarters and Walker's partner. They'll have my address in the FCC call sign records and should be able to find us within a day."

"Where have the two of you been?" Walker asked when they returned. Kathy explained what they'd done but she wasn't prepared for the Ranger's negative reaction to it. "You had good intentions but it wasn't a smart thing to do, Kathy. If your radio operators have access to that information, so will Belmonte. There's a possibility he'll find us before Trivette does. We're not safe here. Where's my gun?"

"Hanging in its holster with my other firearms in the gun safe," she replied, shaken.

"Well, go and get it," Walker said impatiently, "What else do you keep in the house and how much ammo do you have on hand?"

"There's just the scatter gun --- I don't have any shells for that one right now --- and the hunting rifle. I carry a revolver, but I only have eight more rounds for that one aside from what's already loaded." She had brought him his gun while she explained this and handed it to him. "What are you planning on doing?" she asked curiously.

"Preparing for trouble," the Ranger answered as he checked his firearm. Kathy had taken the bullets out of the gun when she put it away. He tried reloading it but his hands shook and his vision blurred. The shells kept slipping through his fingers and dropping to the blankets. "Damnit!"

Kathy's hand covered his. "Walker, stop it. You'll hurt someone if you try to shoot that thing in your condition." She took the gun from him and handed it to John. "Do you know how to handle a firearm?" _This is insane! I cannot believe I'm standing here handing a lawman's sidearm to a confirmed criminal and preparing to defend my home against an intrusion as though it were some sort of damned fortress._

John nodded. "I've hunted before and I'm a fair shot." He loaded it and then set it down between himself and the Ranger. Either of them would be able to quickly reach it if it became necessary to use it.

Walker looked as though he was going to protest but Kathy silenced him with a single, no-nonsense glare. "I don't want to hear another word about it! You've been sick twice today, you're shaking so hard you can barely sit up, and I'd bet you can't even see straight. You'll rest and you'll let _me_ handle whatever happens. It's _my_ home."

"You and Alex are gonna get along just great," Walker muttered but he did as she had ordered. He simply didn't have the energy to argue with her, especially since she was right in the first place.

After they had secured the doors and the windows, Kathy sent John off to get some sleep. She rearranged her rocking chair so that it faced the front door and then, sighing, made herself as comfortable as she could with the rifle balanced across her lap. Whatever trouble might be headed their way would have to go through her first…and she would make damned certain anyone who _didn_'_t_ belong here ate lead for their troubles.

"I've got your back, Ranger Walker," she whispered.


	9. Sinister Purpose

**What Price Humanity Chapter 9 – Sinister Purpose**

"_When the sky is gray_

_And the moon is hate_

_I'll be down to get you._

_Roots of earth will shake."_

**----- "**Sinister Purpose" performed by Credence Clearwater Revival

A Private Upper Class Home in Amarillo, Texas – present day

"Wilson, don't go quite yet. Sit down, pour yourself something to drink," Adrian Belmonte invited.

Wilson warily seated himself on the edge of a leather arm chair and shook his head when Belmonte would have poured him a glass of cognac. Most people invited to drink with Adrian Belmonte never left the room alive and Wilson didn't want to be one of them. "I never touch the stuff, boss. You know that. Let's get down to business."

"There is the small matter of the Kiowa Grassland distribution operation to be addressed," Belmonte continued, steepling his fingers and pinning Wilson with an icy stare. The dark brooding eyes conveyed displeasure and disappointment, neither of which Wilson enjoyed when he was its source. "You were in charge. You allowed the feds to close down the operation _and_ you managed to lose our best cook. _You_ will take care of that particular problem as well. I want him back and I want him compliant. I don't care if you have to permanently maim him, I want him unable to ever run off again. _Do not_ kill him, understand?"

"He presents a threat," Wilson countered reasonably. "If the Rangers get to him before we do, he could jeopardize your entire operation. He knows too much."

"Precisely why we need to get him back. He represents assets which would be too difficult and time consuming to replace. Get him back and ensure production continues." Belmonte turned a cold smile on his adjutant. "Don't fail me in this, Wilson. You don't want to know what will happen if you do."

"I won't fail you again, Mr. Belmonte. I'll get the job done and I'll take care of the Rangers on our trail."

"And Wilson?"

"Yes, Mr. Belmonte?"

"Make sure you give the boys orders to kill anyone who interferes or gets in the way. I meant it when I said I wanted no witnesses left behind. Get going."

Having received his orders from Mr. Belmonte, Wilson Two Tree left the office and navigated his way back to the foyer. "Bring my car up from the garage," he told the servant waiting in the foyer, "and be quick about it. I have places to go."

He considered this assignment distasteful as well as excessive. Wilson didn't like killing when threats would do the job just as easily. Scared witnesses were unlikely to talk or attract the attention of law enforcement the way leaving a trail of bodies might. Wilson had known Kathy Mustang Talker before her aunt and uncle bought out her contract. _I doubt the stubborn cripple would allow either that half-breed Ranger or the lack witted blanketback to remain at her ranch._ _Temperamental broad. She's as likely to shoot as she is to render assistance._ Kathy's silence could be bought with a well-worded threat to harm what remained of her family if she didn't keep her mouth shut and mind her own business.

_That Ranger, however, could present a problem._ He had heard of Walker and the man had a reputation as a tough opponent among the criminals and inmates Belmonte employed for the dirtier work. Walker, he'd been told, ignored standard law enforcement protocol and preferred a more direct, confrontational approach. Wilson knew a few people on Belmonte's payroll who had had their cases dismissed because of Walker's failure to follow procedure.Given the content of the relayed message, however, he felt that he would probably find the Ranger already dead.

The meth cook --- John Quail had been his name --- was the only one Wilson considered a serious risk. He not only knew the formulas for their latest product but also every distribution warehouse, the contact information for their clients, and the major sales locations. Wilson knew he needed to get to John Quail and take him out of the equation before the Rangers caught up with him or Belmonte's entire operation would be in jeopardy. _I'll do hard time if they catch up with him and he's able to spill what he knows. I can't afford that_.

Not many knew Wilson Two Tree had a family; only his boss knew why Wilson's time with them was so precious these days and could not be squandered behind bars. It gave him the impetus he needed to overcome his reluctance regarding this particular assignment and see to it that his boss' orders were carried out. _But first…_ He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, found his cell phone, and dialed his home number.

Galena answered the phone on its first ring, almost as though she had been awaiting his call. _Which she probably has been_, Wilson thought. He seldom talked about his work because he tried to shield his family as much as possible from the consequences of working with a man whose industry had been built upon illegal activities. His wife had known something had gone wrong with the latest operation because he'd been forced to discuss contingency plans with her if he didn't return. She'd watched him leave the house without knowing whether or not he would return. Adrian Belmonte did not suffer mistakes lightly, especially when they cost him assets and threatened his financial empire. "Wil! You are well? Señor Belmonte did not harm you?"

The anxiety in his wife's voice pained him. He wished for what must have been the hundredth time that he was in another line of work. _I'm in too deep to change anything now. At least I am able to provide for my family now._ "'lena, calm down. Everything's fine. I have a few loose ends to clear up for Mr. Belmonte but it's nothing important. Certainly nothing you need to worry about." He changed the subject. "How did it go today? How is the boy?"

"Today he had his first treatment. The specialist had some new ideas about treating the progression of the disease. I noticed an improvement almost immediately afterwards. Wil, Tobias was able to walk down to the car Señor Belmonte sent for us and when we got home he even played in the yard with the dog for a while."

"That's good to hear, 'lena. Where's Toby now? Can I talk to him for a minute?"

"He's upstairs resting, without sedatives or painkillers for once. You can see him when you get home. You'll be here soon?"

"About that ---"

"Aiee, Wil, not again! _Que malo el dictator! _Surely he can spare you for a few hours. You haven't been home in days."

"Enough, 'lena!" Wilson cut in, losing his temper. "We'll talk about this later. I'm right outside Mr. Belmonte's and you know what will happen if he hears you talking like that. Don't make this harder than it has to be!"

"_Lo siento, mi corazón,_" his wife replied softly. "It is hard for me. I hate it when he gives you extended assignments. It always means someone will die. I would prefer it not be you."

"I'll only be gone for a few days, long enough to tie up these loose ends. I promise I'll call you from the road, check in to see how Toby's doing. I gotta go, the valet has brought up my car."

"_Te amo,_ Wil. Be careful!"

"I love you too. I'll see you soon, 'lena." Wilson snapped the phone closed, stuffed it into his pocket, and slid behind the wheel of his black Ford Thunderbird. Waving the valet back, he gunned its engine and headed for Dallas and the filly farm. The men he needed for the job to be done would most likely be found there.

Painted Pony Carousel Lounge Dallas, Texas – late that afternoon

The business which men in Adrian Belmonte's employ referred to as "the filly farm" was actually a nondescript building modestly situated on the edge of Dallas' nightclub district in Deep Ellum. Located on the far end of July Alley off of Monument, the Painted Pony Carousel Lounge didn't stand out much. Someone had bricked in the windows long ago and then painted a crisp black trim around them. The front two held recessed bulletin boards advertising the cover bands and showcasing the various dance acts. A red canopy depicting in black a carousel horse in silhouette with the words "Painted Pony" in a style made to resemble a brand arcing over it led to the smoked glass doors with brass handles which served as the entry point for the club. With its turn-of-the-century white brickwork façade, it blended in with the surrounding establishments. One wouldn't find it unless one knew to look for it or stumbled upon it by accident. Mr. Belmonte liked his fronts that way because it kept the Dallas police and the Rangers from casing them for suspects.

The club hadn't opened its doors to customers yet but the bouncers were already in position outside when Wilson parked his car on the alley facing the street and went through the side entrance. The sound of something shattering, followed by a high pitched shriek and diminishing sobs alerted him. Instinct took over and he had the Smith & Wesson .357 magnum in his hand before he'd rounded the corner. It took him only a moment to assess the scene: Lopez, the appointed assistant manager of the club, punching and kicking one of the dancers who hunched protectively over a much smaller sobbing figure.

"Get away from her or you're dead!" Wilson shouted, drawing a bead on Lopez. Lopez paused, his fist raised to hit the dancer again, and stared into the barrel of the gun.

"All right, take it easy, man. I didn't mean nothin' by it!" He backed away, hands raised protectively in front of him.

Wilson kept Lopez covered with the handgun while the dancer and her companion scrambled to their feet. "You all right?" he asked them. When both stared at him in confusion, uncomprending, he repeated the question in Navajo.

"She should not be here!" the dancer dared to blurt out, frightened eyes darting between the barrel of the gun and Lopez glaring impotently at her from the corner into which he had been backed. "She is not old enough."

"I'll take care of it, don't worry about her," he whispered in Navajo as he reached forward with one hand on the pretext of tossing her a robe with which to cover herself. More loudly, and in English, Wilson said harshly for Lopez' benefit, "Now get out of here before I finish what he started. You'd better make some real money tonight!" To Lopez, he added, "Don't do anything stupid. I'm not through with you" and then holstered the gun so that he could speak to the girl without frightening her further. "I'm not gonna hurt you, babe. How old are you?" She looked at him with liquid brown eyes and reluctantly held up five fingers on both hands. "Ten, huh?" She nodded. "Tell ya what…let me finish taking care of some business here and then we'll get you situated. How's that sound?"

"Are you gonna take me back home?" the girl asked in a small voice with heavily accented English.

"No, sweetie, I can't do that," Wilson responded with real regret in his voice, "but I promise you'll like where you're going." He stood up. "Lopez, get Jacinta in here and tell her to take the kid to my car. Have her get the girl something to eat on the way out too. You and I have some unfinished business to discuss so hurry it up."

When Lopez came back, Wilson was ready for him. He grabbed the assistant manager by the collar and then slammed him against the wall in a choke hold. "_Estúpido_! Do you want the cops to find this place? She's only ten years old!"

"It was a mistake, _esse_, an accident!" Lopez croaked. "She's Jacinta's younger sister and the crazy _puta_ wouldn't come here without her. I was just gonna ---"

"I know what you were 'just gonna'," Wilson roared in disgust. He gave Lopez' throat a final squeeze to remind him who was in charge and then thrust him backwards so hard it cracked the plaster. "Where's Claudio? He knows better than to leave a slime ball like you in charge."

Lopez massaged his bruised throat, tried to speak, and wheezed. He tried again, his voice coming out in a raspy squeak. "Claudio's making a bank run and collecting payments from the distributors. He'll be back in a couple of hours. What d'ya want anyhow, Wilson? This isn't normally your scene."

"I need a job done," Wilson explained. "It's a sensitive situation requiring careful handling. We could end up taking out a few Rangers in the bargain. Mr. Belmonte has authorized me to make it worthwhile."

"The Rangers busted most of our best men in that sting operation up in the Kiowa Grasslands last week," Lopez said after careful consideration. "The only ones here right now are Harrolton and Lovato. They're not particularly smart but they could get the job done if you make sure they know what they're doing."

Wilson nodded. "Tell 'em to get packed; we're going on a little road trip. I'll be back for them in about an hour. I have to find a way to take care of the little "mess" you created with Jacinta's sister. And Lopez? If I catch you attempting to sample or damage Mr. Belmonte's assets again, I'll take it out of your hide."

**Author's Notes:** This was originally one part of a much longer chapter but I have decided to break it into smaller chapters since the events flow better that way. I am sorry it has taken so long for me to update. I spent a lot of time researching places in the city and the laws of Texas for upcoming chapters since I have never been there myself.

I apologize if you're wanting me to get back to Walker and company sooner, but the bad guys demanded their own stories and refused to be stereotypes!

The derogatory terms used by Wilson to refer to other Native Americans are not meant to be an endorsement of such slurs. They are instead a manifestation of Wilson's personal views regarding his own cultural heritage. The terms are defined as follows:

**Blanketback** – refers to any Native American who lives on the reservation. Specifically, it refers to a hidebound 'traditional' Native American who has had all the ambition sucked out of him or her and is content to live on the reservation off of government welfare checks.

**Half-breed** – refers to anyone with one non-tribal parent especially if the person in question inherited more of the Caucasian characteristics than those of the tribe with which he or she is affiliated.


	10. Little Girl Lost

**What Price Humanity Chapter 10 – Little Girl Lost**

**o/ **_"See the little girl lost: _

_walking through this world alone_

_She ain't looking for a lover, _

_she's just looking for a home_

"_See the little girl lost, _

_pleading silently for help_

_Knowing no one understands her, _

_she don't understand herself" _**o/**

-----** "**Little Girl Lost" performed by Kris Kristofferson

Interstate 35 headed toward Dallas – early evening

"I don't know what was so damned important that the Captain had to recall us to Dallas," Auguston muttered through gritted teeth as he dodged around a flatbed loaded down with wood planking which was traveling well below the speed limit. The jerking of the steering wheel tossed Trivette against the side of the car and locked his seatbelt.

Startled from a doze, Trivette grunted and sat up glaring at the impetuous young Ranger. "Hey, man, take it easy with my car! This is a fine tuned machine, not a tractor. It's regulations, David. We gotta report back and then the Captain will set up a cooperative effort with New Mexico law enforcement. Otherwise, our badges aren't going to be good for much."

"The hell with regulations!" Auguston snarled. The speedometer edged up to eighty-five and he swerved around another slow moving vehicle, nearly cutting it off. "I just wanna get this over with so we can go find Walker."

"Slow it down NOW! You are gonna get us both killed!" Trivette bellowed. He rarely raised his voice or lost his temper but when he did, people listened. Auguston's boot eased off the accelerator until the speedometer reflected a more reasonable speed. "Look, I can guess how you must feel about Walker," he continued in a more reasonable tone of voice after giving the young man a moment to settle the raw emotions playing across his face. "We all --- Alex, CD, myself --- feel that way about him. He's my _partner_. You don't think I feel helpless knowing he's out there somewhere in trouble and I don't have his back?"

"You _should_ feel bad!" Auguston blurted out. He swiped a hand across his eyes and hoped Trivette wouldn't see the tears. "How could any of you call yourselves his friend and then let him go off into a dangerous situation like this?"

"This isn't really about Walker, is it?" Trivette asked quietly. "Pull into the rest stop up here and we'll talk. I need something to drink anyway." When Auguston had parked the car, Trivette strode over to the soda machine, put in some change, and handed a can to the younger Ranger. "Time to get personal for a moment," he said. "I'd bet someone didn't have _your_ back and left _you_ in a dangerous situation."

Auguston sipped his soda and took a deep breath. "My first field assignment as a Texas Ranger," he admitted. "It's some sort of hazing tradition over in Company E to let the new guy handle the first situation which comes up without any back-up. Oh, they didn't leave me completely on my own," he amended, forestalling Trivette's outraged protest, "but they hung back and left me to assess the situation without benefit of a more seasoned Ranger. It ought to have been a simple bust."

"But things got out of hand or something went wrong," Trivette guessed.

"The kid who drew on me couldn't have been more than fourteen years old," Auguston whispered. "It was the first time I'd actually had to draw my sidearm in self defense. I hesitated, tried to talk the kid into dropping the gun. Next thing I know, my partner has broken ranks and he's yelling at the other Rangers to get off their rumps and cover me. A slug caught Boyd in the chest and he was DOA when the paramedics got to him. I took down the kid without killing him but I can't forget the fact that if I'd acted on instinct and fired like I was supposed to, Boyd would still be here."

"No," said Trivette, putting a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder to draw his attention back from the tragic incident. "You can't think like that. The men in your company were at fault for the stunt they pulled. You ought to have had the benefit of your partner's advice to tell you when the time to stop talking and start shooting had come. Your partner did what he was supposed to do."

"Boyd was one of the best," Auguston agreed. "He had a reputation over there almost as distinguished as Walker's. In fact, he told me he'd been trained by Walker. I guess that's why it's so important we get him back. I owe it to Boyd's memory…and to you."

"_We'll_ find him. In Company B, we work together. If you stick around, you'll learn that. Now, let's get out of here and find out what the Captain wants so we can chase down those leads. Only this time, _I'm_ driving!"

They were about two blocks from headquarters when a call came in over Trivette's radio. "Any unit in the vicinity, we have a report of an injured or abandoned child in the 2000 block of Greenville Avenue at Sears and Prospect."

"That's not far from here," Auguston said. Trivette nodded permission and he picked up the mike. "Dispatch, this is Ranger Auguston with Ranger Trivette. We'll take it, we're almost on scene."

"10-4, Ranger Auguston. Be advised RP will meet you outside a club called the Boar's Nest."

"We're on it. Thanks, 'nita, and tell the Captain we'll be back as soon as we can."

Greenville Avenue nightclub district - evening

Trivette wrenched the car across three lanes of traffic and then executed a hard right turn onto the exit ramp leading to North Henderson. As the streets got narrower, it got more difficult to navigate them. The evening rush had started and the business professionals and tourists were all headed for their favorite dance spots and watering holes.

"Man, look at all these people!" Trivette said, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. They'd been sitting at the same light for the last five minutes. "I've a mind to get out and walk…"

"We'd get there faster," Auguston agreed. "Why don't you just put out the bubble and turn on the siren or call for a unit to clear things out?"

"Are you crazy, is that your problem? If we did that, it would cause a panic. No, we'll get there. If it were urgent, dispatch would have already been on the horn telling us to get it in gear. Ah-ah!" Trivette swerved across the street and came to rest in the only empty parking slot Auguston could see for miles. "Am I good or what?" He put on his hat and got out of the car. "C'mon, let's go. It's only another block away. And lock the doors!"

The two Rangers knew they had reached the location when they noticed a small crowd of college students gathered outside a bar. They were being interviewed by a DPD officer. One of the young women held a child who appeared to be sleeping in her arms.

"….and that's when we noticed her wandering around," one of the young men was telling the police officer as the two Rangers walked up. "It's awful late for someone that small to be out up here. We didn't think it would be smart for one of the guys to approach so my date went up to the kid and tried to find out where her parents were. She didn't answer; it's like she didn't understand us or something."

"Trivette and Auguston, Texas Rangers," he introduced himself and produced his badge.

"Good to see you, Rangers. I'm going to finish this," he said, gesturing to the young man to whom he'd been talking, "so why don't you talk to the gal holding the kid?"

"Here, I'll take her from you," Auguston said after they'd introduced themselves to the witnesses. He smiled disarmingly at the young woman as she handed over the limp bundle. "I've got a younger brother and sister so I'm good with kids."

"Did you see anything --- a vehicle, a person --- which might help us find out where she belongs?" Trivette asked her.

The woman tugged nervously on a strand of blond hair which had fallen from her pony tail and exhaled softly as she thought about it. "No, I don't recall seeing anyone around her. The poor thing was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking lost and confused. I watched a few minutes to see if anyone would come for her and when no one did, my date --- that's him over there---" she said, pointing to the young man the DPD officer was still interviewing, "suggested I talk to her. She didn't say anything _I_ could understand and then she just sorta…keeled over."

"I might have noticed something," spoke up a petite redhead in the rear of the group. "I came out about five minutes ahead of the rest of my group. There was a car --- I think it was a black Firebird --- idling in the alley. A guy got out and asked the bouncer about this area, whether or not it was relatively safe at night."

Auguston had carried the little girl a short distance away from the crowd toward the patrol car. Her lips had a bluish tinge to them and she shivered as though cold. He took off his jacket, wrapped it around her, and held her close to warm her up. The child opened her eyes and murmured, "I want my mommy." She plucked at his badge clumsily and asked in a slurred voice, "Are you another bad man?"

"No, sweetie, I'm a Texas Ranger," he replied, keeping his voice low and soothing. "We'll help you find your mommy. Do you know where your mommy lives?"

"Mommy sent me wi' m' sisther," the girl replied. Her eyes unfocused and she frowned as though trying to remember. "I don't 'member where m' sisther is!" she cried. "The bad man who keeps me took her an' I can't 'member where we were!"

"That's all right," Auguston soothed. "Do you remember where your mommy is, sweetie?"

"New Me'co," she mumbled sleepily. "Mommy's in New Me'co." Her eyes closed and her head lolled against the young Ranger's shoulder.

"Trivette, get over here!" he called.

Trivette closed his notebook and handed each of the women a card. "Thank you for your time. My number's on that card; call me any time if you remember anything else. If you'll excuse me? Evening, ladies." He tipped his hat and walked back to Auguston. "What's the problem?"

"I think the kid's been drugged with something," he told Trivette. "Her breathing's weird and she couldn't talk clearly. She told me she didn't remember what happened to her."

"All right, let's stop standing here talking about it and get her to a hospital. Do me a favor," he called to the DPD officer, "make sure you talk to the bouncer. One of the girls says a man approached him and asked some odd questions about the night life. Call us if you get anything we need to know."

Methodist Hospital – late evening

The two Rangers had taken the little girl directly to the emergency room where a medical team had converged on her, taken what little information the Rangers had, and then whisked her away to be examined. They had been sitting in the waiting room ever since. At some point, Trivette had called headquarters to update their status and to check in with the Captain. He'd told them they wouldn't have their interstate warrants and authorizations before morning anyway and had asked they remain on watch. Trivette had also called Alex, who had insisted on coming to the hospital to keep them company.

"Any news on her condition yet?" Alex asked as she slid into a seat beside Trivette.

"They're still working on her," he said.

"Well, I took the liberty of notifying FPS. They'll be sending a caseworker out to talk to her if she's able to speak and the caseworker will probably want to speak to you two as well."

"What happens to the little girl then?" Auguston asked, pausing in his pacing.

Alex smothered a yawn and told the young Ranger, "Since the Rangers brought her in and it's a case of suspected abuse or neglect, either the district attorney's office or one of you can give consent for immediate treatment to stabilize her if needed. She then becomes a ward of the state until and unless parents or relatives can be located. If that happens, I'll see to it that she's placed in a good foster home."

"That's not much better than the streets," Auguston responded with unexpected belligerence. "I don't think much of foster homes, Ms. Cahill, and I'm gonna be checking in on her. If she's not well taken care of ---"

"David." Trivette stood up and put a hand on the man's shoulder. Auguston's muscles remained rigid, his jaw clenched and high spots of anger rising into his cheeks. _This man is battling some serious inner demons._

Finally he shrugged off Trivette's hand and jerked away from him. "Leave me alone, Trivette. You wouldn't understand and I don't feel like explaining it. I mean it this time. It won't do any good to pump me for information."

"Try me," Trivette snapped, irritated, "because the way you're acting, you're not going to be much good to me in the field. Alex is just trying to help. You don't need to go off on her like that."

Auguston shoved the older Ranger backwards. "I said…I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS."

"Jimmy!" Alex gasped and took a hesitant step toward Trivette. _Oh, brother. The last thing I need is two Rangers squaring off in a hospital waiting room where the public can see them arguing like this._

"I'm all right, Alex," he told her, "stay where you are." He turned his attention back to Auguston. "You don't want to go there, man," Trivette continued, his voice deadly quiet and his mouth set in a grim line.

"You don't know what I want," Auguston hissed, advancing on him. "You don't know anything about me!"

"I know you don't want to throw away your career," Trivette persisted. "This isn't going to help that little girl or Walker. David, _stand down **now**_**." ** The young man tensed, fists clenched, with hurt, confusion, and anger playing rapidly across his face. Trivette put an arm around Auguston's shoulder. "C'mon, man," he said softly, "let it go."

The sound of someone clearing their throat broke the tableau. "Ahem. Are you the two Rangers who brought the child in?"

Both turned around, embarrassed that someone had witnessed their altercation. They saw a worn-looking woman in her mid-fifties with iron grey hair wearing a utilitarian navy blue business suit and sensible shoes. "Trivette, Auguston, meet Melina. Gonzales," Alex introduced them. "She's the FPS social worker assigned to cases like this in Tarrant County. I'm sure you'll help her all you can." The edge in Alex's voice, which Trivette had known her long enough to be able to read elaborated, _You'd damned well better cut the attitude and do your job, boys._ She'd used that tone of voice on Walker a few times but Trivette had never had it directed at him and he was stunned.

Auguston recovered first, settling his face into a professional mask. Only the reddened tips of his ears indicated chagrin. He quickly removed his hat and offered his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gonzales."

"I wish it could be under better circumstances," sighed the stout woman. She put on the glasses which had been hanging from a chain around her neck and drew a folder out of her briefcase. "I wanted to discuss the details of the case and get the pertinent information from you boys. Is there somewhere more private we could talk?"

After checking with hospital staff, the four of them adjourned to an empty conference room down the hall and seated themselves around the oval table. "What have you got for us, Mrs. Gonzales?" Trivette asked.

"Not much," she admitted. "Alex contacted me shortly after you brought the child in and I came straight down here. The physicians have finished stabilizing her and have moved her to the pediatric ward. That was a good call, Ranger Auguston," Mrs. Gonzales said, smiling approvingly at him. She consulted the medical folder she had been holding. "The child's blood tests came back positive for Ruhypnol."

"Ruhypnol?" Alex echoed, puzzled. "Isn't that ----"

"Yes," the social worker confirmed, "but the doctors found no sign that she had been violated. In fact, the child is in remarkably good condition. Whoever dosed her knew what he was doing; the dose was high enough to disorient her and call attention to her condition but not high enough to kill her. There are some signs that malnutrition was a factor in the past, but she's basically a healthy child. There is one other thing I think may be of interest to the Rangers and might help us track down her family. She has what appears to be some sort of tribal brand or tattoo permanently affixed into her hair and on the outside forearm. Take a look…." She passed a set of photographs to Trivette.

Trivette studied them for a moment. "Never seen anything like it. What about you, David?"

He took the photos from Trivette's hands and studied them. The frown on his face deepened to a scowl of disgust. "Yeah," he admitted slowly, "I've seen something similar before …. On a horse's a… --- excuse me, ladies." Auguston blushed to the roots of his carrot red hair. "It bears a resemblance to certain freeze brands the government uses to mark its wild horses." He set the photos down carefully, as if they might explode. "I think we're looking at something more serious than an abandoned child here. This" and he tapped the photos for emphasis "smacks of human trafficking."

"Would you be able to gain any further information from the brands, if that's what they are?" asked Alex.

"I'd need time and a computer. If it _is_ a freeze brand based on the government mustang brands, it should be a matter of comparing markings and deciphering the information. It would possibly give us a birth date and maybe a state or country of origin. The initial character on the brand isn't one indicating government registration. I'd have to compare it against various company and corporate logos, assuming they were stupid enough to use something recognizable."

"The laptop's in the car. Get on it as soon as we're finished here. We can't do anything else about our other situation until the Captain clears the interstate warrants," Trivette said. Auguston nodded and Trivette could tell by the unfocused expression on the younger man's face that he was already running possibilities. He turned his attention back to the social worker. "Mrs. Gonzales, we'd like to be kept informed regarding the little girl's case. If David is right about his hunch, it will quickly become a matter for the Texas Rangers."

Mrs. Gonzales nodded and inclined her head toward Alex. "The DA's office has already made the same request. I'll make sure you get copies of the reports."

"Were you able to talk to her at all?" Auguston inquired.

"She's not very coherent yet," the social worker answered, "and there seems to be a language handicap. When the girl is more alert, we'll see if we can identify her native language. It isn't Spanish. I'd bet it's one of the tribal tongues."

"Walker would know," Alex said without thinking. She clapped her hand over her mouth when the two Rangers stared at her in surprise. _I can't believe I just said that. We've all gotten too used to relying on him. Walker, where _are _you?_

"Ranger Walker isn't available right now," Trivette said smoothly, covering the embarrassing silence which followed and allowing Alex to regain her composure, "but you may be correct about the language identification. That would give us a better idea about where to look for any relatives."

"Navajo," Auguston said, coming out of his reverie, "or one of the Pueblo tribes. She mentioned her mother living in New Mexico."

Mrs. Gonzales wrote that down in her case notes. "I hadn't known that. Did the little girl say anything else to you, Ranger Auguston?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, reviewing the events, and then said, "She mentioned being with a sister but couldn't remember where they had been before she ended up on Greenville Avenue. I got the impression the sister might be somewhere in Dallas."

"She may remember more when the Ruhypnol clears her system," Mrs. Gonzales said. "I'll be in touch, either through your office or through Miss Cahill." She gathered her paperwork, leaving behind a copy of the photographs of the strange markings for the Rangers, and left.

"You've been awful quiet," Alex observed, "what are you thinking, Jimmy?" The stillness of his mobile face told her that he was trying to trace down some information which seemed to be eluding him.

"Maybe nothing," he responded, "but I am wondering if this case might not be connected to Walker's disappearance somehow. It seems like too much of a coincidence that his last known location was in New Mexico, near the Navajo lands, and now we have a little Navajo girl showing up here in Dallas. I don't believe in coincidences."

"Neither do I," said Auguston. "C'mon, let's get back to the office so that I can get to work on those branding patterns."

"You'll spend an hour on it and then you'll both go home and get some sleep," Alex admonished them. "If the Captain has the warrants in order, you'll need to move out first thing in the morning." She smiled at both the Rangers. "I'll see you there and I'll even make the coffee."

Ranger Headquarters, Company B Dallas, Texas – late evening

"I think I've got something for you, Trivette!" Auguston hollered. As soon as they had gotten back to the office, he'd buried his nose in the computer terminal and begun searching for a means of deciphering the brands or at least confirming that was, in fact, what the marks on the little girl were. It had been harder than he expected to locate _any_ information at all regarding freeze branding in general and, as far as he could tell, no other law enforcement department had reported its use on human beings. Finally, however, he'd come across a brief mention in an online encyclopedia article and an image of the coding system used by the US government on the horse brands. He laced his fingers behind his head, tipped his chair back, and closed his eyes while waiting for the information to print. _So very tired_, he thought, _but I doubt I'll be sleeping much after what's happened tonight._ He wasn't looking forward to whatever fresh hell his wired brain might have in store for him when he got home. _Besides, there's nothing to go home to except that stray out in the alley and even the cat has other places to be._

Alex came up behind the tired young man, gently touched his shoulder to get his attention, and then pressed a fresh cup of coffee into his hand. "It'll help," she said, smiling at him. "We can't have you falling asleep on the drive home."

"Thanks." Auguston, though a bachelor, did know how to cook but brewing coffee correctly was something he'd never quite mastered. The assistant district attorney made excellent coffee, dark and richly flavored without being bitter and acidic. _I could learn a lot from this coffee_, he thought whimsically as he sipped it.

"What did you find?" asked Trivette.

Auguston tapped the computer screen, calling their attention to what looked like an eight sided star with hash marks inside it. "This is the angle code used by the Bureau of Land Management to mark mustangs with their age and registration marks. The first character indicates the registering organization. I haven't been able to isolate that symbol yet; I'm still searching corporate logos, assuming the perps were stupid enough to use something recognizable. The next string of characters tells date of birth and gives a registration number which indicates from which state the animal was gathered.

"These are placed on an animal using a process called freeze marking or freeze branding. According to the data, this is accomplished by shaving the area to be branded and then freezing the irons in either liquid nitrogen or alcohol which has been cooled to a certain temperature by dry ice. The brand is pressed into the skin and permanently damages pigmentation of any hair which re-grows, leaving a distinct pattern in white. On a human being where little or no hair is present, it leaves a frostbite-like scar." He read something else on the screen and frowned. "Some of the information indicates that such burns are prone to formation of cancer later in life, between seven and ten years after exposure."

"Poor darling!" Alex exclaimed. "What a horrible thing to do to a person, especially a small child."

"I don't think the people who do this kind of thing care much about the brutality of their methods," Trivette said grimly, "and if Walker is mixed up with these people, he's going to be in _a lot_ of trouble. Were you able to decipher any of the brand marks, David?"

"I just finished printing out that information. The marks differ; the one on her head is likely a birth date and registration number. The second also contains a birth date but the string of numbers differs. It bears some resemblance to the tattoo marks placed on concentration camp survivors so it may be an origin code or the date she was processed.

"The only information I can confirm for certain is the birth date." He pointed to two characters, present in both photographs just after the corporate logo. "In the angle code, that number indicates birth year: 85. She's either just turned ten years old or will be ten years old sometime this year. If the perps continued to use the angle code, the registration number ought to indicate from which state she was taken. That number _does_ coincide with New Mexico. I'm running a program now which will compare those numbers against known zip codes to see if we can get a more precise match. If it also indicates how many people are being processed, we have a serious multi-state problem on or hands. The federal agencies ought to be notified once we confirm that."

"You're certain of the New Mexico designation?" Auguston nodded and Trivette grabbed up the information which had been printed out. "I'm going to send this over the wire to Walker's New Mexico contact as a heads-up. It's likely he'll also be our liaison for operations there. What was his name?"

"Captain Hendricks," Alex supplied after looking at her notes. "He's the one who initiated the search for Walker and his prisoner. Have you heard back from him yet?"

"Yeah," said Trivette, taking a long pull at his coffee cup. "The weather is still hindering search efforts. The storm is blowing itself out but it's still snowing and they can't get a chopper in the air until it stops. Hendricks did get a posse out on horseback as well as a search and rescue team borrowed from Los Alamos but they've got a lot of area to cover. I know it's useless to tell you not to worry, Alex," he said as he put a hand on her arm, "but I can promise you we're doing all we can to find out what happened. Walker will turn up; he's been in tough spots before and he always comes through."

"Oh, Jimmy," sighed Alex, leaning against him, "I hope you're right." She glanced at the clock on the wall and straightened. "It's really late, guys. Why don't we all go home and get a fresh start on this in the morning?"

Auguston nodded. "Probably a good idea. The program I implemented doesn't need anyone to monitor it and we won't have any further information until it comes up with a match."

"All right," Trivette agreed, "let's pack it in. I'll see you here at the office tomorrow morning at nine." The three of them gathered their things and got ready to leave but they didn't get far because Auguston's desk phone rang. Don't answer that," Trivette groaned, "we're not here!"

"I think I'd better," he said slowly and picked up the receiver. "Auguston here." Trivette and Alex waited, burning with curiosity, while the younger Ranger listened to whoever had called. "I see," he said. "Is there anything we can do on our end? All right, then, we'll get on it."

"What was that about?" Trivette asked.

"You'd better wake the Captain up," Auguston advised. "It's going to be a long night. Someone gunned down most of the night shift up in the Potter County sheriff's office we visited earlier. One survivor, not critically injured, but they're keeping her in protective custody until we get up there and talk to her. Amarillo isn't technically our jurisdiction but the case is being handed to us because they think it's related to our earlier inquiry."

"Why would they think that?" Alex asked.

"Something the surviving victim said," Auguston explained. "So, who gets to disturb the Captain's sleep with this unwelcome news?"

"Under the circumstances, since Jimmy isn't exactly his favorite person right now and just about everyone in the building heard you butting heads with him earlier, I'd better make that call," Alex volunteered, a small smile quirking her lips. "You two keep working on that brand information."

Within the hour, Trivette and Auguston had the warrants.


	11. Long Arm of the Law

**What Price Humanity Chapter 11 – Long Arm of the Law**

**o/** **"**_We got too many gangsters doing dirty deeds  
too much corruption and crime in the streets  
It's time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground  
Send 'em all to their maker and he'll settle 'em down  
You can bet he'll set 'em down" _**o/**

-----** "**Beer for My Horses" performed by Toby Keith and Willie Nelson

A Parking Lot Outside Ranger Headquarters Company B Dallas, Texas – early morning

The Captain had barely allowed Trivette and Auguston a brief rest period and enough time to shower and change clothes before practically shoving them into their vehicle with strict orders to not return without Walker and to apprehend those responsible for the Amarillo shootings.

"You'd think _we_ were the ones who lost Walker," Auguston muttered sourly as they departed the Captain's office. He grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I feel like I oughta be checking to see if there's an axe buried in my back. If looks could kill…."

Trivette whistled and shook his head. "Nah, you read him wrong, man. Walker's been with the department for a long time and the Captain actually cares what happens to him. _That_ is why he doesn't want us coming back without him."

CD caught up with them in the parking lot as they were stowing their gear in the cramped trunk of Jimmy's car. "Whoa, boys, hold up for a moment!" he greeted them.

"Big dog, we've been through this," Jimmy began tiredly. "I didn't let Alex come with us and I'm not going to allow _you_ to weasel your way into this assignment either. The moment we have anything to report, you two will be the first to know."

An offended expression crinkled the elderly retired Ranger's face. "Good night, Jimmy, you sure are testy when you don't get your beauty sleep. I know I can't go with you this time. With you and Walker gallivanting all over creation after these hooligans, _someone_ has to stay behind and look after the lady."

"The 'lady' can look after herself," Alex said crisply as she joined them, "but I'll certainly appreciate your company, CD." She linked arms with the older man and winked conspiratorially. "I'm sure we can find some mischief to get into while you boys are gone."

"Ah…yes…well…." CD blustered, completely taken aback. He tossed a set of car keys at Auguston, who neatly snatched them out of the air. "We came to see you off proper and make sure you had everything you needed for snake huntin'."

"'Snake hunting'?" Jimmy mouthed at Alex while she crinkled up her nose at him and smothered a grin.

"What are these for?" Auguston asked, holding up the key ring.

"Why, they're the keys to my Blazer," CD retorted. "You boys go off into the badlands chasin' criminals in Jimmy's rig and the terrain'll swallow you whole. We lose you boys and that there Captain of yours would have a stroke." He smiled thinly, removed his glasses, and pretended to clean them in order to cover his emotions. "'sides, we're a mite short on cavalry at the moment. You be careful now, hear?"

Trivette motioned for Auguston to load their things into CD's vehicle. "Thanks, Big Dog," he said, grasping the man's forearm and squeezing. "We're not coming back until we've found Walker and we'll get us all home safely."

Alex pressed a Thermos and a paper bag into Trivette's hands as he got in on the passenger's side. "There's coffee in there and something for breakfast so you won't have to stop anywhere," she told him. "Be safe, Jimmy."

"I've got his back, ma'am," Auguston called as he tipped his hat to her and they drove in the direction of the interstate. He guided the Blazer up the entrance ramp to I-30 West and coaxed the old Ford up to speed.

Trivette pulled his had down low over his eyes and settled into the seat cushions. "We'll drive in shifts. Wake me in two hours, David."

Potter County Sheriff's Office Amarillo, Texas – midmorning

The skyline of Amarillo, backlit by the rising sun, finally appeared on the horizon six hours later. Trivette, taking his turn driving, elbowed his young partner awake and the two of them proceeded to the Potter County sheriff's office --- or what was left of it --- on South Pierce Street. The entire block had been cordoned off with yellow crime tape. Trivette parked the Blazer as close as he could get and the two Rangers walked up to the perimeter. A harried, tired looking officer from the Amarillo police department who had been writing something on a clipboard said to them without looking up, "This is a crime scene. Please move along and stay clear of the area."

Auguston tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. "We're Texas Rangers, ma'am," he said respectfully. "I'm Dave Auguston and this is my partner James Trivette. How can we help?"

"Oh!" She finished writing, fastened the pen to the clipboard, and then stared at them as if truly registering their presence for the first time. "I'll need to see your badges, please." Auguston and Trivette passed over their wallets and watched while the officer logged their names, badge numbers, and department assignment. "Sorry about that, gentlemen," she said with an attempt at a smile, "it's just that…" She couldn't finish and gestured instead to the carnage of the decimated building. "I knew some of these people. They were good officers."

Trivette's amber eyes were moist with sympathy as he accepted their badges back from her. "We understand and we'll do all we can to catch the guys who did this. Can you tell me who's in charge of the scene?"

She pointed. A deputy in civilian clothes wearing only his badge, radio and gun stood beside a nervous young man wearing a jacket which read 'CSI' on it while he placed markers beside bullet impacts. "That's Henley. He was off last night but normally works ---worked --- with the night shift. He came in as soon as he heard the call over the radio and started acting as field deputy for the CSI guys. The state lab will be here later today." The officer wrinkled her nose in distaste. "The Feds are coming too but they shouldn't be here until tomorrow."

"Feds?" Auguston's voice held rich contempt. "Why would they be getting involved in this?"

"DEA, to be exact," she said, checking her clipboard. "Agent Lafayette. He asked specifically to meet with you Texas Rangers when you arrived, said something about this possibly involving escaped suspects from a sting operation your fellows worked."

" LaFayette can go ---" Auguston began but a disapproving glare from Trivette reminded him both that there were women present and that, regardless of their personal feelings about the abrasive DEA agent, it would be unprofessional to voice them.

"We'll talk to him if we have time, but" Trivette gestured to the ruined building and shrugged, all innocence, "we obviously have other things which take priority."

The officer handed back their wallets and badges. "I've got you logged in. You may proceed."

Trivette and Auguston ducked under the crime scene tape and introduced themselves to the deputy in charge of the scene. Henley had plainly had a hard night; the soot and dust marring his face showed traces of tears hastily wiped away. He brightened considerably after Trivette and Auguston explained the reason for their presence. "Texas Rangers!" he exclaimed, wringing each of their hands as though it were a lifeline. "I'm sure glad you boys could make it up here. I'm only sorry it had to be under such circumstances with only me to greet you. I'm the one who called. The sheriff, he…"

"It's okay man," said Trivette, grasping Henley's forearm in a gesture of solidarity and sympathy. "Your message said you had one survivor?"

Henley nodded, his expression dissolving into a frown. "Maria Sanchez. The others were killed execution style with a single shot to the back of the head but someone was either a bad shot or decided to spare Maria at the last minute. The perp fired a smaller caliber shot, high up on the shoulder near the junction of the neck, and missed the carotid. She'd also been shielded from the explosion they used to try covering their tracks. You boys probably oughta talk to her when you're finished up here. She told a mighty peculiar story about the fella who shot her."

Something odd about the shattered building had captured Auguston's attention. His conscious mind barely registered the conversation between Trivette and Henley as his instincts struggled to identify whatever nagged at them. Abruptly, he strode over to the CSI and asked, "Got a spare pair of gloves? I'd like to take a closer look." The young CSI nearly jumped out of his skin and then glanced questioningly at Henley, who nodded permission. Wordlessly he handed Auguston the requested gloves; Auguston put them on and began poking around the entrance to the partially collapsed building.

"What have you got, David?" Trivette asked, joining him. He did not touch anything but stood a few feet away observing the younger Ranger's work.

"I'm not certain," he replied as he gently turned over pieces of debris. "The blast pattern looks familiar, though. It reminds me of a case I worked back in Florida, shortly after the killing of David Gunn in Pensacola. A group of radical protesters tried to blow up an abortion clinic in Ocala using dynamite charges."

"You think that's what happened here?" asked Trivette.

"Not quite. That was clearly an amateur job. Only one of the devices detonated and the charge wasn't strong enough to do any real damage to the structure of the building. Whatever was used here had sufficient strength to break the foundation and bend some of the support struts. See how the wall has buckled around the entrance?"

"How do you know all of this?"

Auguston flashed a wry smile. "I served in the Gulf War," he explained. " Army demolitions expert, 3rd Armored Division. Ah-ha!" He prized out of the rubble a thin strip of what looked like charred bright red nylon. "This is probably a piece of Soviet-issue det cord."

Trivette handed him a labeled evidence bag. "You can tell by looking at it?"

"Well," said Auguston, rocking back on his heels, "I can't be absolutely certain without detailed analysis, but there aren't many other things with that distinctive coloration. That may narrow our list of suspects. We're looking for someone with a service record in the Gulf War, possibly another demolitions expert."

"Do you know what they might have used?" Henley asked. "What's that yellowish stuff on some of the blast rubble?"

"Hand me a swab, would you?" Auguston took the proffered material from the young CSI and swiped it across one of the buckled support struts. It smeared rather than being absorbed well but he dutifully logged the sample anyhow. Before he placed it in a separate tube and dropped the whole thing into an evidence bag, he sniffed it. His nose crinkled. "I believe it may be a residue left from the detection taggant incorporated into certain kinds of explosives. Semtex would do this kind of damage and leave that sort of signature. If so, you're definitely dealing with someone who has a military background and plenty of financial backing."

Henley signed over both specimens to the CSI and told him, "Get that to the state lab as quickly as possible." To the Rangers he said, "I want the men who did this caught!" His fists clenched. "You have to find out why they did this. You Rangers bring them in and you make them pay for it. We lost some good people here and I want to know why, by God!"

"Oh, we'll get them," Trivette promised, his eyes fiery with dedication. "They've got a lot more to answer for." He didn't burden the distraught deputy with the knowledge that the cretins who had pulled this job might also have taken Walker. Ranger Walker's name was known by law enforcement throughout Texas and he had quite a few friends. "Could you tell me to which hospital they took your dispatcher? Talking to her seems like the next logical step toward catching these guys."

"We've got two officers from APD guarding her room; I'll call ahead and let them know to expect you." The deputy wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Trivette. "She's at St. Anthony's. That's the address and the directions. It isn't far from here."

St. Anthony's Hospital Campus Amarillo, Texas – early afternoon

The room assigned to Maria Sanchez was located in a wing of the hospital to which access was normally restricted. Though Henley had called ahead, Trivette and Auguston still had to show their credentials to both the charge nurse at the nurse's station and to the doctor who escorted them through the locked doors of the ward. Two Texas Rangers from Company C had been assigned to stand guard. Trivette explained their errand and, though they stayed within earshot, they allowed him and Auguston to enter.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Trivette said, hat respectfully in hand, "but we need to speak with you."

Maria Sanchez, her neck and left shoulder swathed in stiff white bandages, did not seem to notice their presence. Her head was turned toward a framed picture, bent and with the glass shattered, of herself with an arm around an adolescent and holding a squirming younger boy in her lap. All of them were laughing at something beyond the camera.

Auguston snagged a chair, pulled it up to her bedside, and sat backwards on it with his arms pillowed across the back. "Nice looking kids," he commented, adopting a more personal approach. "They yours?"

With difficulty, Maria nodded. "My boys," she said softly, "Anthony and Miguel. Miguel turns six in three days. The man who shot me --- he looked at that photo for a long time," she offered. "I think maybe he spared me because of them."

"We're awful sorry about what happened," Auguston said. "Want to tell us about it? Maybe we can help."

"They came in the middle of the night, just after I started my shift, and they were already arguing…."

**Author's Note Edit**: I had to re-upload the chapter because Word screwed up the story. The errors have been fixed.

**Author's Note:** I am sorry it has taken so long to post the next chapter. I went on vacation and was without Internet access and then the chapter gave me a bit of trouble. This one is short, but I promise things are moving toward a climax. I already have the other chapters lined up.


	12. The Wicked That He Done

**Chapter 12 – The Wicked That He Done**

**o/** **"**_We got too many gangsters doing dirty deeds  
too much corruption and crime in the streets  
It's time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground  
Send 'em all to their maker and he'll settle 'em down  
You can bet he'll set 'em down" _**o/**

-----** "**Beer for My Horses" performed by Toby Keith and Willie Nelson

Flashback to the Day of the Bombing

Wilson Two Tree had waited nearly five hours at the club before Harrolton and Lovato showed up. Since he'd had nothing better to do, he had called Belmonte's office and asked for their files. Glancing over the information there, he had realized he would have to keep a sharp eye on both of them to make certain they did the job they had been hired for and nothing more.

Harrolton, a Viet Nam veteran, had demolitions expertise which he loved to use…whether the job required it or not. He had been dishonorably discharged from service after a psychotic break in which he'd bombed the officers' club and killed several MPs in a stand-off. Harrolton had been found incompetent to stand trial and had instead been sent to the local VA hospital's psychiatric ward for treatment. He bragged a lot about having fooled everyone into thinking he was crazy and then faking sufficient recovery for release, but Wilson was more inclined to believe the doctors than Harrolton.

Wilson had worked with Lovato before and had quickly gotten tired of the man's nasal voice droning on and on about the other organizations which had tried to recruit him. A bit of carefully applied pressure to Lovato's throat had convinced the man that shaking down Mr. Belmonte for more money was a bad idea but Wilson no longer relied upon the man's loyalty.

Neither man would much like the fact that someone half their age had been put in charge of this operation. Both had, on more than one occasion, mentioned how much they begrudged Wilson's close personal relationship with Mr. Belmonte and claimed they could do a better job as his adjutant. After the incident in at the Kiowa Grasslands warehouse, they'd taken to mentioning those facts to him as often as possible. He _had_ to pull this job off without any complications.

When the pair had finally arrived, he hadn't bothered chastising them for their lateness. Instead he informed them of the general parameters for this operation --- they would have time to talk about particulars on the way up --- and had hurried with them over to the car park where they exchanged his personal vehicle for one provided by Mr. Belmonte for these sorts of circumstances. The vehicle's plates, should law enforcement run them, would trace back to a shell corporation cleverly disguised as a company which specialized in providing exclusive clients with vehicles while they conducted their business in Texas. It had been a bit of a risk --- and Wilson's idea --- to use vehicles with high street value and a reputation for being stolen but thus far it had made it impossible for any law enforcement organization to make connections between the operations carried out and the shell corporation….or Belmonte Industries. Wilson was always careful to wipe down the interior of the vehicles they used and to abandon them in an area which virtually guaranteed they would be stripped.

They had been driving for nearly three hours when Wilson's cell phone rang. Mr. Belmonte had further instructions for him. "Change of plans, boys," he told them. "The boss wants that fink of a deputy spared. We'd better figure out how to extract him."

The three of them had come up with a fairly simple plan: Wilson would park the vehicle outside the sheriff's office and Lovato would go inside, claiming to be a relative of the deputy. Harrolton, posing as a family friend, would join them and move about the office setting the explosive charges while Lovato and the deputy kept the rest of the shift distracted with small talk and anecdotes. Lovato would then offer to take their deputy friend out to dinner during his scheduled break and the three of them would high-tail it back to the car. Harrolton could detonate the explosive charges when they were safely at least a block away.

Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way.

St. Anthony's Hospital Amarillo, Texas – early afternoon

Auguston waited patiently while Maria Sanchez sorted through her memories leading up to the shootings and the explosion. Just when Trivette thought she had gone to sleep and Auguston feared he might have somehow, in making her relive the tragedy, injured her, Maria began speaking again. "Montoya had only been working with this office a few months and he had only been assigned to the night shift for three weeks. None of us knew him well. I heard raised voices and came out of the radio room to see him arguing with the one who had come in with his cousin --- I heard him referred to as Harrolton.

"Harrolton said, 'I'm through with this crap. Let's waste 'em.' Montoya's cousin left the building as Harrolton and Montoya drew their guns. They lined the rest of those in the office up against the wall, tied their hands behind their backs, and forced them to kneel. As Harrolton shot the first deputy, his cousin came back with another man."

She paused a moment, her breathing ragged. Trivette glanced up at the monitors; her vitals were climbing because of the stress Maria was being put under. He estimated they had another five minutes to get their information before a nurse noticed the change and excused them.

"I know this is hard for you, ma'am," Auguston said, his voice soft and persuasive, "but it would really help if you could tell us just a little more. Take your time, we can wait."

_The kid's _good_ at this interrogation stuff_, Trivette observed with grudging admiration as he watched the woman respond to his carefully phrased directives, compassionate body language, and neutral tone of voice. Trivette was generally better at it than Walker, but both tended to be a bit on the rough side_. This kid would have just about anyone thinking he was their best friend._ He watched the vitals decline to normal levels and risked an approving nod in the young Ranger's direction. _He just may have bought us enough time to get a full deposition and a lead on the case._

"I was thinking about ducking out the side door and going for help when Harrolton spotted me and dragged me out of the radio room," Maria continued. "He had the gun to my head and started asking questions about that radio message, the one I called you guys up here for the other day. He wanted to know whether the message mentioned anyone other than your missing Ranger, from where the message had originated, who sent it, and who else had copies of it. I think…I think he means to kill you both if he can find you and that Ranger too. He seemed especially obsessed with getting to that missing Ranger."

"We're not going to let that happen," Trivette assured her. "Please continue; your testimony will build an airtight case when we get these goons."

"The third man stared at that photo on my desk for a long time," she said, gesturing to the picture at her bedside, "and then grabbed me away from Harrolton. He told the man he needed me to make certain dispatch communications would be shut down and then dragged me back into the radio room. As he did so, I could hear the other two shooting the rest of my coworkers. Not one of them screamed; they died bravely." Tears trickled down her face; Auguston offered her a tissue and waited patiently for her to continue.

"He asked if the children in the photo were mine, just as you did, and then said the strangest thing. He said, 'I have a kid of my own your youngest boy's age. I'll spare you if I can but we don't have much time.' He bound my hands. I heard one of the men in the front office yelling, 'Wilson, we gotta go. Finish the broad off.' The look on his face when they said that ---_señor_, it was not the look of a killer but that of a man condemned. He said to me, 'I'm sorry, I'll have to shoot you but you'll be all right.' The rest of the incident is a blur, I'm afraid. I remember a flash and blinding pain. He tore off a piece of his shirt to staunch the wound and pushed me underneath one of the desks; then he stacked chairs and other things around it. Before he left, he shoved the photo into my hands and whispered, 'God spare you'. Maybe a minute later, something shook the building and pieces of it began coming down. I woke up here. Is it enough?" she asked plaintively. "Can you find the men who did this and bring them to justice?"

"It's plenty, Maria," said Auguston, smiling warmly at her. "You've given us several leads we wouldn't have had otherwise. I promise you, we'll get them and they _will_ pay for what they've done." He stood up and pushed the chair back into place. "Your only job now is to rest and heal."

A brief conversation with the APD officers assigned to guard her room revealed that the doctor had had the foresight to send both the bullet and the material wrapping the wound to the state lab. Trivette shared with them the information the two Rangers had collected so that they could report back to their chief. He and Auguston headed to the hospital's parking garage. Trivette's cell phone rang just as they were climbing back into the Blazer. "Trivette here. Captain Hendricks! Do you have any news?" Auguston could tell from Trivette's stony expression that whatever he had been told wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Okay, thanks for letting us know. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"What's going on?" Auguston demanded. "Any word on Walker?"

"They still haven't found him," Trivette responded somberly, "but it looks as if our demolitions-happy execution squad has crossed state boundaries. Hendricks got a call from the police up in Taylor Springs and another from Trinidad, Colorado. Both radio operators thought to have handled the message concerning Walker are now dead. MO is the same as the sheriff's office here…execution style shooting, followed by a rigged explosion to eliminate evidence."

Auguston frowned. "That means the feds will be called in and we won't have much time before LaFayette tries to commandeer the operation. If he does that, our chances of finding Walker without getting him killed will go down drastically."

"Don't I know it! Hendricks wants us to meet him in Clayton, where they're staging the search and rescue operation. Let's see how quick we can get there." Trivette turned the key in the ignition, gave the old Blazer full throttle, and squealed out of the parking garage toward the nearest entrance ramp.

Clayton Hotel Clayton, New Mexico – early evening

The skies had darkened as the two Rangers headed out of Amarillo toward the New Mexico border. The snow, at first coming down in spats which melted on contact, had become a steady blanket which covered the road. At Texline, they had stopped and Trivette showed Auguston how to turn the hubs on the old Blazer to put it into four wheel drive mode. Upon finding out the boy had never driven in snow before, he had insisted they switch out. It had taken them nearly an hour to cross the twelve mile stretch of the Kiowa National Grasslands and by the time they had pulled into the hotel the Blazer was encrusted with two inches of snow. Both men were exhausted and nearly falling asleep in their shoes by the time they'd checked into their rooms.

Captain Hendricks, a great bear of a man with close shaven beard and a face upon which the harsh land he safeguarded had stamped its indelible mark, knocked and entered without being asked. He carried a tall Thermos and two large cups which he placed on the table in front of the exhausted Rangers. "Thought you boys might need that."

"Thanks." Trivette opened the Thermos. The scent of good coffee filled the room as he poured it and offered a mug to Auguston. He set aside his service revolver, which he had been cleaning, and drank deeply. Trivette, watching as the strong brew pushed the fatigue out of the boy's eyes, smiled. _He'll do._

"May I take a gander at it, son?" Captain Hendricks asked, glancing at the service revolver. Auguston nodded permission for him to examine it. "Nice piece, but it wants a bit of cleaning. These older revolvers _will_ jam on you and the barrel's gummed up."

"I haven't carried it in a while," Auguston muttered, chagrinned. "You interrupted me as I was getting ready to strip 'er down and clean it. It's a family heirloom so I normally take good care of it."

"Out here, son, a lawman's only as good as his gun," Hendricks pontificated, "and sometimes it's the only back-up you'll have. A man's gun is like a fine lady; you gotta treat 'er right if you want 'er to be around when you need 'er most. _Especially_ a fine piece like your revolver."

In the privacy of his mind, Trivette wondered if Walker had ever been this touchy as a young Ranger. _The two of them certainly share that stubborn pride. Maybe CD has the right idea about being out of the way when those two finally meet._ Trivette watched the blood surging upward across Auguston's fair skin and knew the boy wouldn't take much more ribbing. _It's not Hendricks' fault; he doesn't know what happened to David, but I have to put an end to this before it goes to blows._

"David's been undercover on special assignment. No guns allowed," Trivette explained hastily, pinning Auguston with a glance which said clearly _Don't do anything stupid, I'll take care of this_. "We kinda hit the deck running when Walker went missing and so there hasn't been time to do more than remove the sidearm from storage." _Please,_ Trivette prayed, _don't ask why I'm not carrying a sidearm as well._ He definitely didn't want to explain that particular ramification of the case.

The tension eased out of Auguston's shoulders as he realized he wouldn't have to explain any further. "Rangers are allowed to carry whatever firearms they choose as long as they can qualify regularly on them….and I can!" he added defiantly.

Hendricks chuckled, a sound like boulders tumbling down a mountain. "No offense intended, son. You're a Ranger and that's good enough for me. Why don't you clean 'er while I catch you boys up on the situation? Then you'd best get some shut-eye. I can't give you much time, though," he apologized. "That egg sucking mongrel LaFayette will be here soon and I know you don't want to be saddled with him."

Auguston, content to clean his firearm and remain unnoticed, listened to the older men conducting the briefing session. "I would presume you received all the information we have regarding the crime scene in Amarillo?" Trivette asked.

"Your Assistant District Attorney Cahill faxed it up to me, including some photographs of the site," Hendricks confirmed, "and young Auguston's observations regarding the probable origins of the detonation device's remains. We've yet to receive detailed reports down from Trinidad, but it matches the preliminary findings of our forensics team at the Taylor Springs site."

"Any idea why Agent LaFayette seems to think this is related to the Kiowa Grasslands bust?"

The New Mexico sheriff pondered Trivette's question for a while before he answered. "Well, now," he said thoughtfully, "those feds are an odd lot. They don't think like normal folk. Anybody else _that_ paranoid would probably end up in a funny farm somewhere. LaFayette didn't seem too bad as feds go but…let's just say he didn't play well with others."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Trivette interjected. "Walker doesn't play well with others."

"There're two types of lone wolf," Hendricks amended. "Walker's the type who _can_ work with others but prefers to play things out his own way. LaFayette is the dangerous type; he's a glory hog and he doesn't particularly care who gets mowed down by his ambition. In any case, LaFayette's gotten it into his head that the drug bust and this case are related because Walker was involved with both and the people being targeted handled a message concerning him. Someone is trying to cover tracks."

"Walker's not involved!" Auguston interjected, setting aside his revolver. "He wouldn't _do_ something like this. Something must have happened to him."

"Didn't say he was, boy," Hendricks stated brusquely as Trivette held up a hand in protest of the younger Ranger's outburst. "Ranger Trivette asked why Lafayette thinks the cases are related and I told 'im. Now settle down and finish cleaning that piece while we finish this."

"Do you agree with Agent LaFayette's assessment?" Trivette asked.

"I think he's right about _someone_ wanting to cover their tracks but no, I don't think it's Walker. Whoever they are may be after that prisoner he was transporting, though."

"What can you tell us about that prisoner?"

"Odd feller, that one. I've tangled with some big 'uns in my time but he was the largest brute I've ever seen. After Walker took 'im down, he kept rattling the shackles, making threatening gestures, and snarling. Lieutenant Wallace and I wanted to hold 'im over for questioning or at least until Walker could get one of you up here to accompany him. LaFayette wanted to _shoot_ him or break the fingers on his hand one by one until the prisoner quit posturing and spilled his guts. Walker got between 'em and threatened to feed that agent his teeth if he touched the guy. He apparently thought whatever the prisoner was doing might be a language and mentioned that your Ms. Cahill might be able to find someone who could translate. Walker insisted it was the prisoner's right and that only Ms. Cahill would have the resources needed to help the feller."

"Do you think he could have overpowered Walker?" Trivette asked.

"I couldn't rightly say." Hendricks picked his next words carefully. "We were all working under some pretty miserable conditions. A tired man can make mistakes."

"We can't rule out the possibility," Trivette confirmed. "The radio message received in the Potter County sheriff's office said that someone had Walker and dared us to come and get him or his life would be in danger."

"What's the status of the search?" Auguston asked, stifling a yawn.

"I'll take you to our command post in the morning and show you the areas we've covered. We have two posses out now and some folk in four wheel drives but it hasn't been possible yet to get a helicopter up." He stood ponderously, grimacing as the joints creaked in protest. "I'll be going now. Grab a bit of shut-eye and we'll see you in two or three hours."

Both collapsed in sleep after Captain Hendricks excused himself. They'd only had time for a quick shower and a change of clothes when he returned. Trivette was pulling on his boots and Auguston good naturedly absorbing Trivette's smart remarks while he shaved. Hendricks, in his usual blunt manner, knocked only once and then barreled through the door. _My God_, thought Trivette who disliked mornings, _the man must literally be part bear. Where does he get all that stamina?_

"Good morning," he managed, grunting as he tugged the second boot into place.

"Here, you'll need these." Without preamble, Hendricks tossed two sheepskin lined heavy leather jackets on the nearest bed. "Oughta fit you," he grunted. "Those windbreakers you boys brought up with you won't cut it."

The owner of the hotel had allowed the various law enforcement officials to use a vacant room as a command post. Hendricks snagged three cups of coffee off a table just inside and then led the Rangers over to a large bulletin board which displayed a search grid superimposed over a map of northeast New Mexico. "Here's what we know." Hendricks pointed to the first push pin, located in the middle of a roadless stretch in the Kiowa National Grasslands. "The bust took place here. Walker's truck was last seen on a game trail headed northwest. It's presumed he connected with New Mexico 406 and then possibly doubled back southward."

He touched the next two push pins. "Those are Taylor Springs, New Mexico and Trinidad, Colorado where the bombings took place. The targets were amateur radio operators who handled a transmission mentioning Walker. As you can see, those locations are in relatively close proximity to one another but over one hundred and fifty miles away from Walker's last reported position as well as being in the opposite direction he would have been traveling in order to reach his target destination. However, they could have easily been reached traveling via New Mexico 406 if he was skirting the snow storm. The posse has covered all of Kiowa National Grasslands. We're now concentrating on the areas along New Mexico 406 and in the vicinity of Taylor Springs. There's no indication either of them would have gone to Colorado. Our CSI guys seem to think that the radio message was bounced up to Trinidad in order to circumvent radio interference caused by the storm."

Trivette picked up a push pin and marked another town on the map. "The Company B dispatcher who was on shift that night logged a call from Walker from Mount Dora, New Mexico. That was the last time _we_ heard from him; he never checked in at Amarillo."

"Do you have a time line of events?" Auguston asked. "That might give us a better idea of exactly when Walker went missing. It may be possible to extrapolate from that which areas we should most likely concentrate on searching." Hendricks handed the younger Ranger a grease pencil and pointed him toward a whiteboard. He wrote:

**4:00 PM - Walker calls Company B and contacts Trivette to say he is en route to Amarillo with a prisoner**

**4:30 PM – Walker contacts Assistant District Attorney Cahill for special dispensation regarding prisoner's rights and transport to Dallas for trial**

**9:30 PM – Company B dispatch logs call from Walker stating location as Mount Dora, New Mexico and giving estimated arrival in Amarillo at midnight**

**12:30 AM – Potter County sheriff's office attacked and officers executed**

**5:30 AM – Taylor Springs, NM radio operator murdered in explosion**

**7:00 AM – Trinidad, CO radio operator murdered in explosion**

Hendricks studied the time line and compared it to the map and search grid. "We've ruled out _this_ section of the Kiowa National Grasslands," he said, indicating the reserve marked in the northeastern corner of the state, "but based on this timeline, the route _could_ intersect with the section of the Kiowa National Grasslands between Mills and Gladstone."

"I wonder," Trivette mused, "if the Taylor Springs explosion and murder weren't a case of mistaken identity. We know whoever these yahoos are must want that prisoner back awful bad. Is it possible they thought Walker was there as well?"

"I hadn't thought about that, but it could be," Hendricks said. "I'll recall one of the posses from up north and have 'em move their operations down there."

"Does Walker use a state issued credit card for expenses?" Auguston asked.

"Huh? Yeah, he does. Why?" asked Trivette. He had been staring at the search grid as though by will alone he could force it to give up Walker's location.

"If you can get me 'net access," Auguston said, addressing Hendricks, "I may be able to narrow down the search area further by tracking Walker's credit card transactions."

Trivette smacked himself in the forehead. "Of course! Good thinking, David. I ought to have considered that avenue of investigation myself."

"Could be difficult," Hendricks responded. "Not much in the way of services in these parts and, as you know, our mobiles only connect to our own databases."

"One of these days I've _got_ to convince Big Dog to let them install one in his Blazer," Trivette muttered. "Our vehicle isn't equipped so I guess we'll have to do it the hard way. If you've got a phone I can use, I'll call Alex and get her going on it. She should also have further information on some of the other angles of the case we'd been working before we got called up here."

"I _could_ still dial into our database in Dallas if you'll get me a line," Auguston offered. "I do have a phone number for the modem pool."

Hendricks motioned for an officer to come over, told him what the Rangers needed, and ordered things set up as quickly as possible. Fifteen minutes later, Auguston had Trivette's laptop out and had lost himself in the data streaming over the phone line. Trivette picked up the other phone and dialed Alex's number.

"Jimmy!" Alex squealed into the phone. Trivette held the receiver away from his ear and rubbed it. "Any word yet? Have you found Walker?"

"No, no," he responded, talking quickly to forestall any further questions, "but we're getting closer. They've eliminated one sector and have managed to narrow the remaining search area significantly." Their conversation was interrupted by a stream of unrepeatable words from Auguston. He was muttering something about line quality and reconfiguring the telnet connection.

"What on earth was that?" Trivette could hear the blush in her voice.

"David," Trivette said succinctly as if no further explanation were needed. "He's trying to access some information which might help us locate Walker faster but he's having trouble. That's why I called; I need a favor, Alex."

"Tell me what you need and I'll do it."

"Talk to someone in accounting and see if they have any records of transactions on Walker's state issued credit card. You can fax us that print-out when you get it. It may give us a better idea of where and when he disappeared."

"I'll take care of it for you," Alex promised. "Also…that inquiry David made regarding the originating radio call sign on that message came back. It's an old one and the W0 prefix is generally assigned to Colorado; however, the ARRL database lists it as belonging to "Mustang Talker Ranch" in New Mexico. There's no physical address listed and no one who answered the query had talked to another operator with that call sign. One of them told me it's a good indication that the base station is kept either for emergency purposes or perhaps in place of a telephone." She sighed. "If that's the case, you guys are looking for a rural, isolated area, Jimmy."

"All right, Alex, we'll get someone up here on it. Maybe it's a place name and it will be in _their_ mobile database. Take care of yourself. And don't worry," he said more softly, "we'll find Walker."

"Thanks, Jimmy. Call if you need anything else. I should have those files for you in a few hours."

Hendricks approached him as he put the phone back in its cradle. "One of my deputies just took a call from a little place in the Sangre de Cristos foothills called Broken Springs. There _was_ nothing there of consequence, just a gas station and a post office with a few houses and an old railroad line."

"Was?" Trivette asked. "Don't tell me…"

Resolutely, Hendricks picked up another push pin and indicated the town's location on the map; it was just outside the redefined search radius. "Same as the others," he confirmed. "Fifteen residents were lined up in the post office and executed. Explosives were used to destroy the building. The guy who called it in is a farmer with a mobile base station. He and his family have since cleared the area."

"They're escalating," Trivette stated. "That means they're either getting desperate or they're getting closer to their target. We've _got_ to get to these guys before they kill anyone else." Hoping the Captain might recognize the place name, he told Hendricks about the origin of the radio call sign.

"Name doesn't ring a bell, but if I gave your boy access to our database maybe he could dig up something." He tapped Auguston on the shoulder and told him something.

Auguston's hands flew expertly across the keyboard. "I put a search program in place," he said, leaning back. "It'll take a while before it gets any hits but we should know something soon." The fax chimed and he tore off the papers as they came in. Auguston whistled. "I've got your connection," he announced. "I wasn't able to telnet into the Rangers' database back in Dallas but it looks like Alex got the information for us." He pointed to a line he'd highlighted. "Walker's credit card shows one charge the night he disappeared. It originated from the gas station in Broken Springs at approximately 11: 15 PM that night." His monitor flashed. Auguston looked at the information and groaned.

"What's wrong, David?" Trivette asked.

"There are _two_ ranches with that name," Auguston told him, "and both are in the general vicinity to which the search has been narrowed. Only one, however, is near the Kiowa National Grasslands." He typed a few more commands and brought up a US Forest Service map. "The first address is here, just thirty miles outside of Wagon Mound, off of New Mexico 39. Southeast of Taylor Springs but north of Mills." He tore another piece of paper off the printer. "I'll hang onto the second address in case we need it but this location seems most likely."

Trivette was already pulling on his borrowed coat. "Let's go check it out."

"Hold it right there, Rangers," came a new voice. Both Trivette and Auguston instinctively froze and Auguston's hand hovered above his holster. Trivette, to his annoyance, discovered he had tried to draw a gun which wasn't there, a gun he was not

---in the foreseeable future --- allowed to carry. Both could hear other guns in the room cocking.

"Stand down, boys," Captain Hendricks commanded, "it's only a weasel. Not the smartest thing to say to a bunch of lawmen with itchy trigger fingers," he said mildly to the small man wearing an expensive business suit and a dark trench coat. "What can we do for you, Agent LaFayette?"

What he lacked in height, Henry LaFayette evidently made up for with his obnoxious attitude. The small man, who really did bear an unfortunate resemblance to a weasel, maintained his officious tone of superiority as he addressed the room at large. "You know exactly what I'm doing here, Hendricks. Did you honestly think that the DEA would leave a case like this in the hands of a podunk sheriff and a couple of tin star cowboys?"

"Why that little…." Auguston trailed off, nearly choking on his rage. "I'm going to wrap my hands around his scrawny little neck and…"

Trivette silenced the boy with a glare and pulled him aside. "No, David, you won't," he growled in an undertone. "Let Captain Hendricks create a diversion while we slip outside and head for that ranch. You really ought to learn to keep hold of that temper or it's going to get you killed one day." Shamefaced, Auguston nodded and followed the older Ranger out into the parking lot while behind them the argument about jurisdiction continued.

"How much right does LaFayette _really_ have to be involved in this investigation?" Auguston asked in a stage whisper as they slunk across the parking lot.

"LaFayette has a point when it comes to the bombings and executions," Trivette said, panting as he squeezed between two SUVs, "since it crossed state lines and there's a good chance the people involved in those crimes are the same scum who got away from the first bust. Walker, however, is our problem."

"Not entirely true, Rangers." Agent LaFayette, leaning against the Blazer with his arms folded across his chest and a facetious smirk on his face, startled them both. "I think Walker is involved in this and I'm going with you in order to preserve the…impartiality…of this investigation."

_How in hell did he manage that?_ Trivette wondered. _'Weasel' is certainly an accurate label for this guy. _

"Just get in," Trivette told him, tired of arguing, "and don't do anything without running it by me first. Until and unless you prove that allegation, the Rangers will take care of their own."

Mustang Talker Ranch Between Mills and Wagon Mound, New Mexico

It offered small satisfaction to the Rangers that CD's Blazer seldom carried more than two passengers and consequentially, the DEA agent had to cram himself into the back seat amid tackle boxes, fishing poles, and camping gear. They drove in silence across the windy desert plains for about two hours before reaching the New Mexico highway Captain Hendricks had directed them to take. _"State highway" is a generous designation for it_, Trivette noted, _because it's really nothing more than a narrow track covered in gravel_.

Auguston grabbed Trivette's sleeve as they approached the gated driveway of the ranch. "Stop, Trivette. Something isn't right."

"Nonsense!" LaFayette blustered. "I think you're stalling, kid."

"Would you _shut up_, LaFayette," Trivette said, exasperated. "What's got your attention, David?"

"The ranch is too quiet," Auguston answered seriously. "Even in a snow storm on a spread this large, there ought to be people out doing chores or taking care of livestock. Look at the ground; there aren't any tracks going in or coming out besides ours. No one has been here in some time."

Before either Ranger could say anything else, the sound of a gun being cocked came from the back seat. "LaFayette," Trivette said, tired of the little DEA agent's itchy reflexes and cynical attitude, "if you don't put that thing away, I'm going to put it away for you." _I'm starting to sound like Walker. I hope we find him soon because I don't like being the "bad cop"._ "We don't know what the situation might be," he continued more reasonably, "and the last thing we need is another Waco."

"I can handle a firearm. I don't need you telling me how to do that and my job too," LaFayette responded defensively but he did as Trivette requested. "All right, smart guy, what's our next move?"

"We'll go in carefully," Trivette decided, "but remain alert. No need to alarm them if they're simply snowbound but let's avoid unnecessary risks. Shoot only if shot at and disable them only, got it?"

Auguston got out of the Blazer, opened the gate, and then rode with them toward the main ranch complex. He shivered but it wasn't caused by the cold. "It's really quiet out there," he reported. "No sign of movement and no sounds, not even from livestock."

"They know we're coming. We're probably headed into a trap." LaFayette's hand hovered near his holster but a glare from Trivette, who ignored his comments, reminded him that drawing his firearm right now wouldn't be the best move.

Trivette shook his head. "I don't think so, Harry." He'd been out to Walker's ranch often enough to know that even if you _were_ expecting an assault, there wouldn't be any way to silence the livestock. Horses and cattle made noise and sound carried in rural areas with nothing else to distract a listener. "Something _is_ wrong about the situation and I can't put my finger on it yet, but I do know it doesn't feel like an ambush." _Maybe I _am_ turning Cherokee…or I ought to consider relying upon hunches more often instead of discarding them and trying to replace them with hard evidence first._

About one quarter mile up the driveway, still headed toward the main ranch house, they came upon the first of the dead livestock. The animals had clustered around a watering trough and had died there in apparent agony. Auguston, the only man in the group with any livestock experience, took a pair of rubber gloves from the evidence kit and made a cursory examination of the carcasses. "No evidence of gunshot or knife wounds," he told them. "I can't tell what happened but it seems to have been sudden and swift. They're all frozen; we ought to get a vet out here to examine them. It's odd, though, that the membranes are in such good condition."

LaFayette was visibly twitching with nervousness. He flinched when Auguston disposed of the gloves and got back into the Blazer. "I don't think it's contagious," Trivette said wryly, observing LaFayette's obvious attempts to distance himself from the younger Ranger. "If it were, we'd likely already be dead."

"I don't like it," the little DEA agent responded. "I can't remember where, but I've seen or read about something like this before. It gives me the willies."

"Any sign of the ranchers?" Trivette asked.

Auguston shook his head. "There's no one out there. The cattle had obscured anything useful and the snow took care of the rest. However, I did find a faint set of tracks further away. They were headed toward the house."

"That's where we'll go, then." He pulled the Blazer to the side of the road and got out. "We'll walk in. Keep your weapons ready but don't fire them unless there's no other option. I'll take point, you and Harry can flank me."

As the three worked their way over the fields, they came across the first of the human bodies. Trivette dropped to his knees and checked the girl, whose age he estimated to be no more than twelve or thirteen, for a pulse. Her lips, like those of the cattle, were an unusual shade of red, giving the distressing impression of sleep rather than death. He shook his head. "Dead," he told the others, "just like the cattle."

In the front yard lay the bodies of several children ranging in age from under a year to six or seven. Trivette found two young women and an adolescent male slumped just inside the mud room. It looked as though they had died in the act of cleaning up before a meal. The women had died while preparing breakfast; they were all in the kitchen. Trivette paused in his search and looked at the other two lawmen. LaFayette's eyes kept darting around the room as though he expected to find something the older Ranger had missed; Auguston had gone pale and looked as though he either wanted to cry or be sick. Trivette could sympathize, as he felt that way himself. He had experienced death before, had even taken another's life but he had never encountered anything on this scale.

Auguston took a deep breath and holstered his weapon. "We're not going to find anyone alive." His eyes begged the two older men to contradict him but neither of them did.

"I remember now," LaFayette whispered dismally. "I was too young to have worked the case, but everyone had to read about it. This looks a lot like some of the photographs taken at Jonestown in Guyana."

"You think they took their _own_ lives?" Trivette stared at him incredulously.

"I don't buy it," Auguston insisted stubbornly. "If that was what they did, why kill the livestock as well? Why bother preparing a meal? We're missing something."

"Finish searching the house," Trivette agreed. "Holler if you find anything."

They hadn't, by mutual consent, split up to check the other dwellings or the outbuildings. Somehow, they sensed they would only find more of the same. By the time they'd cleared the main ranch house, the body count totaled fifteen. The last one was different. Auguston had found the older man in a back room which seemed to have served as a home office. He had been shot in apparent hast and it had evidently taken him a while to die. In front of him, initially obscured by the slumped torso was a field journal upon which a note had been hastily written:

_It's in the water. _

"'In the water'?" Trivette echoed, staring at the blood spattered page. "What could have been meant by that?"

"Auguston, lend me a pair of gloves from your kit and one of the vials," LaFayette instructed. Dumbfounded, the younger man gave the DEA agent the requested supplies. He walked across the hall to a bathroom and the two Rangers heard running water. In a moment, he came back with a vial full of water. "Can you smell it?" he demanded.

Trivette and Auguston both took a cautious sniff. "Not me," Auguston said with a shrug.

"Smells like water," Trivette said, puzzled.

"Sixty percent of the population cannot smell cyanide," LaFayette announced grimly. "I don't happen to be one of them. I would guess that the ranch's water comes from a central cistern and may perhaps be stored in a holding tank. Whoever did this dropped a highly concentrated amount of cyanide salts into the water. Death would have occurred within a few minutes of ingestion."

Auguston had taken a pencil from the desk and seemed to be doodling on the page of the journal beneath the note. "There was something else written here," he said excitedly, "in a different hand." Someone had torn the second page out of the journal but the writer of _that_ note had pressed heavily and left impressions of the lettering behind. The graphite provided enough contrast for them to read it:

_I can't let this happen to another family. I tried to stop it but I've lost control of them. They'll keep killing until they get Ranger Walker._

"They didn't find what they wanted here," said LaFayette, putting the pieces together, "and so they're headed to the other ranch. It looks like Walker double crossed them."

"I've got to phone this in," Trivette said coldly and stalked back to the Blazer. He asked the dispatcher to patch him through to Captain Hendricks and informed him of what they had found. Hendricks promised to send a forensics team down to process the crime scene and then gave them permission to proceed to the second site. Once he'd finished his official obligations, Trivette made a phone call on his cell phone to _his_ Captain. "Walker's in a lot of trouble," Trivette informed him. "Roll the whole damned company if you have to, but we need back up as quickly as possible. There's an air park in Clayton. If you send a team up in a chopper, they should reach us within a few hours." Promised as much back up as he needed, Trivette then returned to the ranch house. "There's nothing more we can do here. Let's see if we can't head off these idiots before they hurt anyone else."

**Author's Note: ….and we're now back to Walker, where I hope to remain for the next few chapters.**

**I have been asked by my beta readers why they're phoning places for information, calling Alex to have her look it up, or using radio communications "because they could just look it up on the Internet". It turns out that they couldn't have; modern Internet usage as we know it didn't exist; neither did wireless access. Cell phone usage was in its infancy; it was blocky, unreliable, and service was limited to heavily populated areas.**

**ARRL – American Radio Relay League**


	13. Dark of Night

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 13 – Dark of Night**

"_You make up your mind, you choose the chance you take_

_You ride to where the highway ends and the desert breaks_

_Out on through an open road you ride until the day_

_You learn to sleep at night with the price you pay_

"_Now with their hands held high, they reached out for the open skies_

_And then with their last breath_

_They built the roads they would ride to their deaths_

_Driving on through the night unable to break away_

_From the restless pull of the price you pay_"

**----- **"The Price You Pay" performed by Bruce Springsteen

Mustang Talker Ranch 45 miles northeast of Taos, New Mexico

Walker couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep for long periods and so he and Kathy made small talk. Eventually she had drawn him out and gotten him talking about the horses on his ranch, pedigrees, and the merits of various training techniques. The fire had burned down to embers and the living room felt dark and cold. Kathy flipped the safety on the rifle back in place and laid the gun aside, secured but within easy reach if she needed it.

"I'll just put a few more logs on the fire," she said, getting stiffly to her feet, "and then I have a few things I need to do." Out of habit, she laid her palm against the Ranger's forehead; he still had a fever but she thought it had come down. Color had come back into his face as well and his breathing seemed easier. "You look like you're feeling better, Ranger. Do you need anything?"

"I'm a bit hungry," Walker realized, pleasantly surprised.

A warm smile transformed Kathy's tired face. "I'll fix something for you." She limped to the fireplace, selected tinder and kindling from the wood bin, and rebuilt the fire. With the electricity out, they had been cooking most of their meals on the hearth. The ranch house's construction predated modern conveniences and the fireplace was equipped with a crane upon which a cooking kettle could be placed. Kathy swung the kettle over the flames to warm the pot's contents and toasted some bread in the spider. She fed the Ranger plain toast sopped in broth, a few careful spoonfuls at a time. Walker finished most of it before indicating he was tired and wished to go back to sleep.

John Quail came into the kitchen, barefoot and rubbing his eyes, as Kathy was preparing her own dinner. She dished out a second bowl of stew for him and signed, "Good, you're awake. Please sit and eat with me; we need to talk."

"What's on your mind, little sister?" John had taken to calling Kathy that once she had confirmed their clan ties and had reassured him of her acceptance of their blood relationship.

"We both know what will happen if Wilson catches up to us," Kathy began.

John nodded once, reluctantly. "He'll kill that Ranger for certain. I doubt he'd do more than hassle me a bit; Mr. Belmonte wants me back in the meth production labs and I'm the only competent cook he has." He placed his hand over hers. "I worry about you. We both know what Wilson does to those he considers useless, especially those who refuse to give up their heritage."

"I've been looking at maps of the area," Kathy told him, pulling one out of her pocket and spreading it on the table. "There's only one route to this and the surrounding ranches; it's also the most likely place for the Ram to have gone off the road. We may be able to reach it without Wilson and his men intercepting us if we go on horseback." She pointed to another segment of the map. "I've ridden this trail when we move the cattle to the higher pastures. It's not direct, since it follows the natural features of the terrain, but it does eventually connect to that highway and there's cover if we need to stop over or hide. Can you ride?"

"It's been a while since I was on a horse, little sister, but I'm still a Pinto Runner of the Mustang Talker clan and we were _born_ knowing horses!" John's brown eyes glinted with good humor. "How's our Ranger doing? Will he be all right in the saddle?"

"I think so. Walker's condition seems much improved, though he probably ought to at least see a doctor. Once we find the Ram, we should be able to make it into town and get him taken care of." She frowned, troubled by one aspect of their escape plan. "I don't really want to turn the horses loose; they _could_ find their way back here, but I'd hate for them to get hit by a car."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." John rose, pushed his chair back under the table, and began to collect the dishes. Kathy caught his hand to get his attention.

"I need a shower and a change of clothes," she told him. "Stay with Ranger Walker and keep watch until I get back?"

"Go ahead," he signed. "I'll just finish taking care of the dishes."

Knowing John would come and get her if anything went wrong, she took her time showering. Kathy thanked the gods that the ranch house's water heater was powered by propane as she luxuriated in the hot needle-like spray. The moist heat washed over her body and soothed the tension from her knotted muscles. Wearing a flannel gown, she went back to her room, sat on the bed, and began combing out her long hair. A hand gently seized the brush mid-stroke and took over the job.

"You don't need to do that, John. I'm capable and I'm not _that _tired," Kathy signed but her protest lacked the vehemence of her earlier objections. If she were being honest with herself, she had missed the simple rituals family often did for one another in her culture and she enjoyed having John around.

John could not sign and continue brushing her hair. Reluctantly, he spoke. "I know that, but it is one of the things kin does for each other. The Ranger sleeps deeply. He wakened briefly but told me I ought to look after _you_."

"Why the name 'Quail'?" she asked him sleepily, leaning into the strokes. "It doesn't suit you at all."

"A cruel joke on Wilson's part," John explained as he began to plait Kathy's hair. "Quail's strength is in family identity and in numbers. I had neither. These were stripped from me at Cottonwood."

"When this is all over, we'll have a rite to re-confirm your clan identity if you wish to do so. Ranger Walker said you'd probably have to serve some time in prison for your involvement in Belmonte's drug cartel but that doesn't mean you couldn't come back here. You'd be welcome."

"I think I would like that," he said, favoring her with one of his rare smiles. He tied off the braid with a bit of bright satin ribbon he'd taken from her dresser and offered her a hand. "You'd best get back to Walker and I need to check on the livestock."

She could hear Walker calling for her as they walked back into the living room. He had thrown off the blankets and kept trying to get off the couch but he hadn't the strength to do so. "He's going to hurt himself!" Kathy quickly went to his side and gently but firmly negated his attempts to rise. The Ranger, accustomed to her touch, quieted and allowed her to replace the quilt but became agitated any time she shifted her weight or tried to pull away. "I thought you said he was sleeping peacefully?"

"He wasn't like this when I left him," John signed, hurt by the accusation in her voice. "He was coherent, told me you needed looking after because you were tired and that he just wanted to sleep."

Kathy stroked the Ranger's sweat matted hair away from his face, murmuring, "Shhh, it's all right, Walker. I'm right here." To her cousin she said in a gentler tone and with an apologetic smile, "His fever's spiked, that's all. It's not unusual with illnesses like these but I need to get it back down so he doesn't lose what little strength he has left."

She knew better by now than to try giving Walker any medication because he would only throw up. Instead, she concentrated on simply bringing his temperature down. Walker seemed to use her touch as his anchor to reality; he became increasingly irritable and restless if she removed her hand or tried to attend to other things. Finally she seated herself beside him on the couch and held him while she sponged his face with cool water. John brought her whatever she needed. Kathy could tell he felt guilty about leaving the Ranger unattended, even for such a little time, but she hadn't the attention to spare for her cousin just now.

Walker seemed to be seeing something beyond the living room, something neither of them could readily observe. "He's coming," Walker muttered, head turned toward the southeast. "They're coming. Watch yourself! Don't let him catch you, Kathy. Go back to Dallas! Trivette, **WHERE ARE YOU?**"

John shivered, unnerved by the Ranger's eerie ramblings. "I think I'll get more firewood before we secure the place for the night and get started on some of the preparations we talked about."

"Take the rifle with you," Kathy called out after him. She drew the Ranger close to her, trying to shut out whatever was bothering him. "Walker. Walker, there's nothing out there. We're safe. Shhh, it's all right, we're safe."

The hazy blue eyes didn't quite focus but he pinned Kathy with a stare which sent chills through her. "No, nothing is safe any more. They're coming and they won't stop until we're all dead! I can't protect you, you've got to leave now!"

Helpless and frustrated, Kathy continued rocking him. Hoping he would hear her, she kept stroking Walker's face and telling him over and over, "We're safe for now, Walker, and I'm right here. Don't worry about it. I'm all right, there's no one after us." She finally coaxed him into a fitful sleep and even then, the only way she could only keep him still by lying down beside him and holding him. Exhausted, Kathy drifted off to sleep with him still in her arms.

She woke, uncertain of how much time had passed, when Walker sat up and pushed his way past her. He stood for a moment, stiff and unmoving, staring into the darkness. With a low, involuntary moan which tore at her soul, Walker collapsed and fell to the floor. Kathy threw back the quilt and knelt beside him. His eyes were rolled up into his head and the muscles jerked and contracted in spasms.

Coming in from the cold with an armful of wood, John found them both on the floor. He dropped the logs he had been carrying and ran to his cousin. "What happened? What's going on?"

"He's having a seizure. Help me get him on his side so he doesn't choke." Together, they turned the Ranger on his side. Kathy pillowed Walker's head in her lap so that he would not injure himself and kept talking to him.

After two minutes of frenetic shaking, Walker heaved a deep sigh and lay still. It seemed like an eternity before he drew his next breath and his breathing settled into a slow, even pattern. He raised his hand to Kathy's face, touched moisture, and frowned. "Why are you crying?" Walker asked, his voice fuzzy with confusion.

"Walker!" Kathy sobbed. "I thought I'd lost you! How do you feel? Are you all right?"

"Been better," Walker muttered, still not understanding what had happened and embarrassed by the attention. "Head hurts. Don't cry over me, Kathy. I'm not worth anyone's tears."

"The hell you aren't! Stubborn son of a ---" Kathy scrubbed the tears from her face with the back of her hand, angry with herself for losing control and angry with the Ranger's apparent lack of self worth. "Let's get you back to bed."

Walker's movements were uncoordinated and it took both Kathy's and John's help to get him off the floor and back onto the couch. "I just want to sleep now," he told her, not unkindly. "Leave me alone, Kathy, and let me rest."

Unconvinced, Kathy refused to leave his side. Rather than argue with her, for he had to admit to himself he simply couldn't spare the effort for it, he allowed her to curl up beside him again. His fever remained high and he found it difficult to stay alert. Something nagged at the edges of his Cherokee instincts, told him that they were vulnerable and something terrible lurked in the darkness outside, but with his judgment compromised he couldn't focus enough to pinpoint the source of concern. The effort marked onset of a second convulsion which lasted longer than the first.

"I don't know what else I can do for him!" Kathy wailed as she stroked Walker's hair and tried to soothe him. Knowing it would be useless and unwise to do so, she made no effort to restrain his movements.

"Valerian root," John signed, "have you got any in your medicine chest?"

"I have some," she replied, dubious, "but what are you going to do with it? It's usually used as a powder for prevention of wound infection."

John smiled grimly as he explained, "Valerian root given as an infusion can sometimes stop seizures." He tapped his head, his voice wry with irony. "Personal experience taught me. Hearing loss wasn't the only 'gift' granted in the accident. Valerian grew wild around the buildings at Cottonwood. Sometimes it would be the only remedy we had for such problems."

"I remember what it was like," Kathy said. "After all, I was there for almost two years before my aunt and uncle could pay my bond."

"It got _much _worse after you left," John assured her. "You stay with Walker. I'll prepare the infusion and we'll dose him up well with it. It should calm him and decrease the convulsions if it doesn't stop them entirely."

None of them appreciated the earthy, rank smell given off by the root as it steeped. Walker's nose crinkled in distaste and he turned his head aside as Kathy tried to get the dropper under his tongue. Blue eyes, hard and cold as steel, locked with hazel. "You're _not_ drugging me! Gotta remain alert, can't let down my guard."

He unexpectedly found himself locking wills with an unmovable force. Kathy's eyes went flat and emotionless. "You _will_ let me give you this, Ranger Walker," she snapped at him, "because I am not going to let you die due to your foolish pride!" Her voice softened. "I don't want anything to happen to you. Come on, Walker, let me do what I must. I'll keep the dosage as low as possible."

"I can handle a gun, Ranger Walker," John reassured him, placing his hand on the distraught lawman's arm. "You have my word as her blood kin that I will not allow anything to happen to her."

Walker knew what such a pledge meant and understood the effort it took the big Navajo to speak directly to him in English. He could take it at face value and for once relinquish some of the heavy burden of responsibility. "I'm counting on you, John Quail," Walker told him as he closed his eyes.

"I gave him enough to keep him asleep for at least a few hours," Kathy told her cousin, "but I'm still going to stay here with him. Finish those preparations and then bring the horses up into the corral nearest the house. Saddle them but don't tighten the cinches and leave the bridles off until we need them. Give them a good measure of oats. We may need to leave quickly and the horses will want the extra energy reserves."

John nodded, shouldered the rifle, and went out to the barn. He wasn't gone long. A strangely hollow shuddering sound shook the walls and reverberated through the floorboards. Kathy looked up, a questioning expression on her face, just as John burst through the front door. "I think," he signed breathlessly, "we may be out of time. Come, see it with your own eyes."

Kathy stepped out onto the porch. Toward the southwest, in the direction of Broken Springs, a sickly glow illuminated the skies. She thought she detected a faint scent of diesel coming to her on the wind. "Great Spirit," she gasped, "they've torched the refinery and the gas station. We've got to get out of here now. Saddle up the horses; I'll wake the Ranger and meet you at the barn."

She went back inside and shook the Ranger by the shoulder, gently but insistently. The valerian infusion had slowed his reflexes considerably and his mind did not immediately process her frantic instructions. Kathy fumbled with the zipper on his jacket and muffled a curse when in her haste she caught the webbing between her thumb and finger caught in it. "I'll do that myself," he told her. His own hands were shaky but he managed to finish zipping the jacket and to pull on his gloves. Standing was another matter entirely; he stood, swayed on his feet, and then sat unceremoniously back on the couch. "You'll have to help me," he admitted sheepishly.

"All right," Kathy said, positioning his arm across her shoulders and wrapping one of hers around his waist. "Come on, Ranger Walker, we need to hurry. It's only a few hundred feet to the corrals and John already has the horses saddled."

"You're taller than I expected." His mind kept focusing on irrelevant details --- better than the edge of nothingness which loomed all too close, he mused --- even though the small part of his brain still reacting rationally was screaming at him to pay attention to more important concerns. The realization came to him that whatever horror had gnawed at his Cherokee instincts was about to descend on them and not only was he powerless to stop it but he presented a significant liability.

"I'd be nearly six feet tall if it weren't for the problems with my back and this gimp leg," Kathy responded as she half dragged Walker across the fields. She kept them in the shadows whenever possible, taking advantage of the scant protection they offered. She sensed his tentative hold on consciousness and kept him focused on the task at hand by talking to him. "It's just a little further, Walker."

When they got close to the barn, John came forward to meet them. He held the reins to two saddled horses, both of which were blue roan paints. "I turned the others loose," he explained, "and did the same for the cattle. They ought to be safe in the upper pastures even if Wilson and his men do come here."

"Those are your stallion and your main brood mare," Walker realized, recognizing them from their earlier conversation about blood lines.

Kathy nodded. "I'm not taking any chances with them. If Wilson decides to destroy the herd, I wanted to have something with which I could start over. We may be in for a rough ride," she continued apologetically. "I hadn't had time to properly break them for riding but at least they've had a saddle on them and know what a bridle is for. Can you get into the saddle, Walker?"

He sighed, sagging against the door jamb. "Not without help," he admitted. "It'll be nothing short of a miracle if I _stay_ in the saddle. Never thought I'd see the day I'd bee too sick to ride a horse," he muttered disgustedly.

"You'll ride in front of me, then," Kathy decided. "I'll mount up first and then John can help you." He watched with detached admiration as the girl neatly balanced her bad leg in the stirrup and then nimbly used the good one to hoist herself into the saddle. She extended a hand to Walker and, with John's help, he half crawled up onto the horse. "Let's ride," she said and touched the reins to the horse's neck.

"I'll follow behind and cover our trail," John called as he vaulted onto the mare's back.

They headed out over the bleak terrain, toward the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos, and the blowing wind obscured their tracks.


	14. Long Trip Alone

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 14 – Long Trip Alone**

"_It's a long trip alone over sand and stone  
That lie along the road that we all must travel down_

"So maybe you could walk with me a while  
And maybe I could rest beneath your smile  
Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold  
'Cause it's a long trip alone"

**----- **"Long Trip Alone" performed by Dierks Bentley

Sangre de Cristos foothills, northeast of Mustang Talker Ranch New Mexico

They used the unexpected strengthening of the snow storm to cover their retreat. Following the fence lines, Kathy guided the blue roan paint through the open pasture surrounding the ranch house. Beneath the thick layer of snow, a broad beltway of even grass ran toward the county road to the south. This she avoided, turning their mount to the north and west where it emptied out in to low rolling hills in which grew sporadic groves of large twisted pines and cottonwoods. It offered scant cover should someone attempt pursuit but it was all they had.

"The land slopes upward until it meets a mountain crag," Kathy explained to the half conscious Walker. "The soil's shallow there and the horses' prints won't show. We'll also have shelter or a place to lay low if we need to do so. The bottom of that cliff is pocked with caves and several of them will easily accommodate the horses. One of them even has a natural stone chimney. The smoke dissipates as it goes up and can't be traced to its source.

"Once we crest the ridge, it slopes downwards into Mustang Creek. That forms the northern boundary of my property. We can follow the creek down to the highway. I'm hoping we'll find your truck."

"How long before we reach the highway?" Walker asked.

Kathy frowned. "If we'd been able to take the county road, it would have taken no more than forty-five minutes. Going this way, it will take at least four hours. However, it has the advantage of being difficult for anyone tracking us to pick up our trail."

The path became steeper and narrower as it angled up toward the ridge. The horse shifted its feet nervously, not liking the incline or the shifting of unaccustomed weight on his back. Kathy spoke a few soothing-sounding words to the animal in Navajo and he steadied but guiding the stallion now required all of her attention. They rode in silence and Walker's mind wandered. The valerian had lowered his temperature and stopped all but occasional tremors but it made remaining alert difficult. He could feel himself relaxing his hold on the saddle horn and fretted about falling out of the saddle.

_How will she manage to remount if I take her off with me? _ He jerked himself upright and concentrated on staying in the saddle. "I'm a liability, Kathy," he murmured to her. "You should go on alone, come back with help."

"Not going to happen, Ranger," she responded crisply as she guided the horse around a jagged outcropping of tumbled boulders. "I promised I would get you back to your people and I'm going to keep that promise if it's the last thing I do!"

"Don't say things like that!" he protested, more sharply than he'd intended. A gust of wind coming down off the mountain cut through them both and snatched his breath away. Walker began coughing until, exhausted, he leaned back against her. He tried in vain to sit back up but he couldn't manage it.

Kathy, sensing Walker's fear of falling, reined in the horse at a copse of junipers. "Just relax, Ranger Walker," she soothed him. "You can brace yourself against me, if you're tired. I'm not going to let you fall."

"How ---" he managed, wheezing.

"I'm a Mustang Talker," she said simply and for the first time it came to Walker that it meant more than a simple clan designation. "I've told Comanche what needs to be done. Comanche might not be completely broken, but he knows his duty. If he has been told to carry a rider safely, he will."

A ghost of his usual lopsided smile spread across his face. "I'll have to take your word on that," Walker said.

"Believe it," she said. She settled the Ranger back in the saddle until his head rested against her collar bone and then wrapped her arms around him and took up the ends of the reins. "You just rest, Ranger Walker, and leave getting us out of here to me and Comanche." She slapped the reins against the big stallion's shoulders and spoke to him again in the language of the Diné. The horse pricked his ears forward and began quickly but carefully picking his way up the slope.

"Where's John Quail?" he asked a little later.

"He's about an hour behind us, making certain our tracks are covered and laying false trail," she answered.

"These are professionals," Walker countered. "It seems like a wasted effort and I'm worried about him getting caught."

"Wilson Two Tree couldn't track his way anywhere even if he were given a map and the route was painted in Day-Glo arrows," said Kathy scornfully. "Wilson was 'specially selected' by Belmonte to be his protégé. From an early age, Belmonte made certain Wilson had no contact with his tribe members and Wilson never made an effort to learn any of his heritage as an adult. He told each of us this when we first arrived at the Cottonwood facility. Wilson holds tribal traditions and any who follow them in utter contempt."

As the path leveled out midway up the ridge, the riders had to traverse an open exposed area of snow covered rock. The storm, which had eased within the last hour, suddenly found new strength and a stinging wind drove needle-like ice crystals through their clothing. Kathy, who had been making course corrections based on the position of the stars when they were visible, lost her bearings. She wrapped her arms more securely around Walker and, trusting the big blue roan paint's instincts, gave Comanche his head. The stallion lowered it, eyes half shut and ears laid back to protect them from the weather, and plodded slowly onward.

Rousing him from a fevered daze, Walker's Cherokee instincts made him aware of the sound of hoof beats somewhere behind and below them. Walker listened intently, attempting to intuit a more precise direction from which the rider --- or riders --- would be traveling but the storm deadened and distorted the sounds. He couldn't concentrate enough and every time he thought he knew the rider's position the sound shifted. "Someone's coming," he said.

Kathy, knowing she couldn't possibly reach the saddle gun and remove it from its scabbard, --- _never mind that it can't be fired with any accuracy from horseback_, she thought wryly --- looked around for somewhere they could secret themselves until the rider or riders had either passed them or been identified as an ally. They couldn't have picked a worse area in which to be trapped if the person turned out to be an enemy; the path ahead narrowed again as it began ascending the ridge and dropped off steeply to one side. The table land they had been crossing provided no protection or cover since only a few stunted junipers and cedars had found the courage to grow there. While she was still wondering what she ought to do, Comanche gave a shrill commanding neigh of greeting.

"Well, Comanche recognizes the horse," Kathy told Walker, relaxing marginally. "It's probably John, then." Nevertheless, she edged Comanche off the trail and behind a clump of cedar and scrub oak. It offered scant coverage if she had guessed wrongly but was better than nothing. A few minutes later, the swirling snow parted to reveal the blue roan paint mare with John on her back. He had obviously ridden her hard in order to catch up with them; both were out of breath and caked in ice because they'd had to ride directly into the storm.

"Kathy," John called softly in English. "Where are you?"

"Here," she replied but Comanche, eager to touch noses with his mare, was already moving forward. "What's going on, John?"

His gloved hands made it difficult to sign but John Quail managed to laboriously communicate his message. "I laid a false trail and eliminated our tracks as best I could but I don't know how long that will keep them busy. Wilson may not be a good tracker, but he has one with him, little sister. It's only a matter of time before they figure out which way we went."

"We still have a small safety margin," she said. "They can't get a vehicle up here to follow us and they'll never catch up on fo… what else aren't you telling me?"

John hung his head. "I told you I'd turned out the horses so that Wilson wouldn't be able to hurt them. Without a stallion to herd them, the mares and yearlings weren't willing to go far. He's managed to catch and saddle three of them. They're not fast mounts, but the assassins do have that advantage."

"We've got to get off this part of the mountain," Walker spoke up. "This table land is too exposed."

"There's one of those cave systems I told you about over the crest of this ridge," Kathy responded. "The one I'm thinking about is large enough to hold the horses and its entrance is well back from the trail head. If we cover our tracks well enough, it's unlikely they'd find it unless they already knew about it."

"Let's go, then." John pulled his mare aside and gestured for Cathy to take the lead. Comanche plunged ahead, turning backward and whickering anxiously whenever he thought the mare lagged too far behind.

Walker's temperature began to rise again. Drenched in sweat and burning up, he clawed at the zipper on his jacket seeking some relief from the heat. He didn't understand why, when it felt like a fire was consuming him from the inside out, he was also wracked with chills. Dimly, he became aware that Kathy was also shivering. His hand, reaching to cover hers on the reins, encountered wet frozen flannel. "Kathy…where's your coat?"

"There wasn't time," she told him evasively. She didn't want the Ranger to figure out that not only had she not had time to grab her coat but she also had not had time to change. She was still wearing her granny gown and the suede slippers she had put on before this ordeal began. "I'm not so cold," she lied, "especially with you here to keep me warm."

"Nothing we can do about it now," Walker agreed but he kept his gloved hands over her bare ones for what meager protection from the elements they offered. "At least this darned fever's good for something," he muttered, leaning back against her as far as he could.

Nearing the top of the ridge, the trail widened and allowed the two horses to travel abreast. John pulled his mare up beside Kathy. "Stop a moment," he signed to her. "I'll unfasten your bedroll and wrap it around you so that you'll be a little warmer." He dismounted, removed the thick blanket strapped behind the cantle of the saddle, and helped his cousin drape it around herself and the Ranger. The heavy, fleece lined quilt settled comfortably over Kathy's shoulders.

"Thanks, John." She didn't want to admit just how much discomfort being cold and wet had caused her but it was a relief to have _something_ between her back and the elements.

Walker, no longer worried about her freezing to death, relaxed with a sigh as the added warmth stole over them both and allowed his head to fall back against her chest. He kept hold of her hands even as he drifted off to sleep. Kathy clicked her tongue at Comanche and goaded him into a trot; she wanted them down off this mountain and somewhere relatively safe before dawn came.

"How long before we reach the highway?" Walker had forgotten he had asked her about this earlier.

"A couple of hours at least," Kathy repeated patiently. "We'll hole up in that cave I told you about for a while so we can fix something to eat and get some rest. You remember me telling you about that?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I remember." Something else nagged at his conscience. "Kathy, can either you or John Quail drive?"

"I haven't learned yet," she said, sounding embarrassed, "and I don't know if John knows how or not."

"I do," John answered, riding up beside them. "Even if it's a stick shift, I shouldn't have any problems getting it where we need to go."

"Kathy," said Walker, a sudden realization striking him, "just how old _are _you?"

"I've fifteen winters last Christmas," she responded with dignity.

"You're just a kid!" Walker felt a new respect, tempered with a sense of injustice on her behalf, growing for this strong, determined girl who had already endured so much since the Ranger had crossed her path. _To have been left completely alone at so young an age…I've got to make certain she's taken care of._

"In the eyes of the Diné and under our laws, she's a woman grown and capable of making her own decisions," John explained. "Don't make the mistake of treating her like a child, Ranger Walker."

"Unfortunately, under Texas law, she's still a minor. It could cause problems when we get back to Dallas to testify against Wilson because the courts will want to appoint a guardian to protect her rights."

"And since I will be in jail --- at least until you can get your Ms. Cahill to review my case --- they will not consider me."

"You two, quit discussing me as though I weren't here!" Kathy declared in exasperation. "I don't want anyone looking after me, I can take care of myself!"

"The courts won't see it that way ---" Walker began but a sharp pain in his stomach distracted him. He couldn't quite suppress a groan.

Kathy instantly regretted her shrewish attitude. "Walker? Walker, what's wrong?"

"I'll live," he said through gritted teeth, regaining control of his pain thresholds through sheer force of habit and will, "let's keep moving."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I'm not all right," Walker admitted candidly, weariness straining his voice, "but there's nothing you can do about it right here and right now. Get the horses moving."

Kathy cast a doubtful glance back at her cousin, who nodded. "He's right, little sister. The best thing we can do for Walker now is to get down off this mountain and find the truck."

She knew they were both right. Sighing, she wrapped her arms more tightly around the Ranger and, willing him to draw some measure of comfort from her proximity, slapped the reins against Comanche's withers. The stallion took off at a gallop as though he sensed the urgency of his mission. Comanche's gait was smooth and effortless, something Walker would normally have admired, but the rocking motion only served to induce further nausea and pain. The Ranger endured for as long as he could, clamping his mouth closed against the moans and praying that they would reach the top of the ridge soon.

An hour before daybreak, the two horses finally crested the ridge. There wasn't enough light for them to see anything yet. Vague outlines appeared and vanished, startling the horses and causing them to dance sideways. Low-lying grey clouds reflected a greenish glow from the horizon. Between them stars winked in and out. The higher they climbed, the wider the sky became until the tattered clouds stretched out beneath them and blanketed the valley. Walker's hand tightened convulsively around Kathy's and she heard him swallow painfully.

"Get him down," she commanded John Quail, "he's going to be sick again." Together they wrestled him from the saddle. He fell to his knees in the snow and the brush, gagging.

Walker, misery in his eyes, waved them both off. "Leave me be," he said harshly between heaves. "Just leave me alone. Please."

"Like Hell I will!" Kathy said, stamping her feet. She felt mad clear through and was thoroughly tired of the Ranger's bravado. "You mule-headed, stubborn, son-of-a---"

John Quail grabbed her by the shoulder. "Leave the man alone, Kathy." He understood all too well a man's need to conceal weakness, especially from someone for whom he was trying to be strong.

"I won't!" she cried, frustrated and allowing her fatigue to get the better of her. "I won't just leave him like that. He needs help."

"Just for a moment," John signed, leading her a short distance away. "Let him be sick in private and then he'll let you do what needs done. With so much else going on, Walker doesn't want you to worry."

"I'm already worrying," she sniffled, wiping her eyes on the back of her sodden sleeve.

"I know," said John and put his arms around her. The two of them stood at the edge of the precipice, leaning against one another for warmth and comfort for a few minutes. She tried without success to shut out the horrible retching sounds behind them and buried her head in John's chest.

"Kathy." At the sound of his voice, she pulled away from her cousin and ran to Walker's side, her long braids flying out behind her. He hadn't been able to sit back up but had crawled off to one side until his back rested against a small outcropping of rock. In the growing light, she could see his face had lost all color. His chest rose and fell in uneven, rapid breaths and a pinkish foam flecked his lips. _He's in bad shape._

She took his hand in hers. "Walker, I'm here."

"Just get me some water, would you?"

"Sure, Ranger Walker, anything you want." She did not leave his side but instead called to the big Navajo, "John, bring me the canteen and get some of those clean rags out of my saddle bag." He brought the requested items and stood politely to one side as he stood guard over them. Kathy got her arm behind Walker and helped him sit in a more comfortable position. She used one of the cloths to wipe the foam from his mouth and clean him up a bit before tilting the canteen to his mouth. "Here, Walker, take a drink. You'll feel better."

He drank eagerly but contented himself with only a few sips because he knew his body would tolerate no more than that. He pushed the canteen aside. "Thanks."

John Quail had finished prowling around. He came back and reported, "We can rest here a while if necessary. This place offers a decent view of both trails and we can see anyone coming or going from either side." Walker nodded his gratitude and, exhausted, lay back against Kathy. He closed his eyes and she drew the bedroll around them both. John hobbled the horses and set up his bedroll nearby.

All three were startled by a loud, hollow boom echoing from the valley below. An ominous red glow lit the sky, followed by wisps of thickening black smoke. The wind carried the scent of burning wood. "Lightning strike?" John asked dubiously.

Kathy shook her head. "Not this time of year," she said. "We don't typically get the first thunderstorms until late April."

Walker struggled to stand. "Get me up," he demanded. "I need to take a look. Something isn't right."

"Nothing's been right for quite a while," Kathy murmured as she obeyed the Ranger's request.

John was already standing on the edge of the precipice staring down into the valley. His face held an unreadable expression except for his eyes, which had gone hard and cold. "Get her back away from here, Ranger," he said. "She doesn't need to see this."

The big Navajo's words confirmed Walker's worst fears. "They fired the house…"

"No," Kathy gasped, "they wouldn't…they have no reason to…." She struggled wildly, tearing out of both men's grips and scrabbled to the edge of the ridge. She could see for herself the thick plume of smoke which could only be coming from her ranch house. "This…this cannot be happening…."

Walker stood quietly beside her, drawing on pure willpower to keep upright --- _she needs me now and that takes priority_ --- and put his arm around her. "Come away from there," he said gently. "Kathy, it'll be all right…and I promise I will make them **pay **dearlyfor what they've done."

For the first time since Walker had known her, Kathy looked her age. Her lips trembled as she struggled to hold back the storm of emotions. Her hazel eyes filled with tears and the dam walling off her reactions broke. She flung herself at him, sobbing hopelessly. "Oh, Walker….my _home_…."

If he'd had the strength, Walker would have caught her up in his arms and held her. Instead, he drew her away, back to their bedroll, and coaxed her to sit down with him. Murmuring assurances and stroking her hair, he cuddled her while she wept. "Walker?"

"What is it, Kathy?"

"Walker, if anything happens and I _have _to have a court appointed guardian, could it be you?"

Touched by the confidence she had placed in him, he nodded. "I'll do the best I can for you, Kathy. It won't be easy but we'll make it work. Would that be all right with you, John?"

John grinned. "I couldn't think of anyone better suited for the task if I can't be there myself." He finished removing the hobbles from the horses and tightening their cinches. "Can you ride now, Ranger?"

"I'll do." That wasn't quite true; only the need to ensure Kathy's safety and wellbeing kept him from allowing the illness to get the best of him. There was nothing he wanted less than to climb back into the saddle and ride horseback down the mountain. "Not much choice, is there?" he grumbled.

Back in the saddle and headed down the ridge toward the creek and the cave system Kathy had described, they made slower progress by daylight. John and his mare scouted the trail behind them, erasing as much evidence of their passage as possible. He reported back to Kathy and Walker at half hour intervals. Kathy estimated only several hundred feet of trail remained before they were down off the mountain. She frowned and glanced anxiously backwards. John was overdue. "Maybe we ought to retrace our steps and check on him," she said. "He may have run into trouble."

"I'm sure everything's fine," Walker responded. "He's got my service weapon and if he were in trouble, we'd have heard---" The report of a rifle echoed against the cliff walls, followed by the sharper sound of a handgun being fired. "We've got trouble," the Ranger announced grimly. "How much further to that dadgummed cave?"

"Another fifteen or twenty minutes, I think," she responded. "I don't want to leave John behind if we don't have to…"

The mare galloped up with John clinging to the side of her neck and using the big horse as a shield from behind which to shoot. Whoever he was shooting at hadn't yet made an appearance but both Kathy and Walker could hear horses crashing through the underbrush and the curses of the men riding them. "Ride!" John yelled, panting. "Wilson and his goons have gained on us. They're only ten or fifteen minutes behind us at most. We've got to make the cave before they get here."

Kathy kneed Comanche sharply in the ribs and he took off down the slope at full speed. At the bottom of the incline stretched an open snow covered clearing with a small streamlet flowing through it and surrounded by aspen and spruce. "Down there!" Kathy pointed in the direction of the stream. "We can follow the stream toward the cave opening. They won't be able to track us through the water." She motioned for John to go ahead of her.

The sharp crack of a rifle from above startled both horses and caused them to bolt. Walker instinctively crouched low over the neck of the stallion. Kathy, struggling to regain control of the big stallion, had no such option. She felt something sting her temple as she struggled to regain control of the big stallion and regain speed. Another painful something slammed into her shoulder as they splashed through the stream. The horses nearly lost their footing on the ice covered rocks and slippery pebbled stream bottom but eventually the riders gained the cover of the trees and were able to guide them out of the water and up on to the rocky bank.

"Here!" Kathy called hoarsely and angled Comanche toward what seemed to be a solid sandstone and granite wall. At the last minute she jerked him sharply sideways and he seemingly disappeared between two large boulders. The narrow tunnel passage opened out into a large dry cavern. A moment later, John's mare skidded to a halt beside her. The horses' heads hung low and they stood with legs splayed, their sides heaving with effort.

John dismounted and pulled the saddle from his horse. He removed the bit, strapped on a nosebag full of oats, and rummaged around in the saddle bags until he found a rag with which to towel down the lathered mare. "We ought to be safe here for a while," he said with satisfaction. "Unless Wilson and his goons are familiar with the area --- and I would suspect, from the way they crashed through that thorn thicket that they're not --- they'll never find the entrance." He laughed shakily. "I almost didn't make the turn myself. Need some help, little sister?" he asked, noticing she had made no effort to dismount.

"I'm tired, that's all," she answered, distracted. Kathy couldn't figure out how she might have been stung by a bee in the middle of winter. "I'll be along in a moment. Help Ranger Walker, would you, and get a fire going?"

"Sure," John agreed and let the Ranger steady himself on the big Navajo's shoulder while he dismounted. "You sure you're all right, Kathy?" John gently touched her arm and his hand came away bloody. "You stay put, Ranger, you're not strong enough to carry her. I'll get her out of the saddle," he said, "she's been hit!"

"Just a graze," Kathy muttered, trying to push them away. "Felt like a bee sting. Such a big fuss for such a tiny ole thing," she scolded John.

"Just a graze," Walker quickly affirmed. "They bleed a lot but they're nothing serious."

"Graze, my a…" John began but a warning glare from Walker caused him to leave the sentence unfinished. He carried his cousin over to the bedrolls and gently laid her down.

"There's a hole the size of Texas in her shoulder!" he whispered angrily at the Ranger. "You're not going to let her get away with saying it's just a graze, are you?"

"I don't want her to panic," Walker explained reasonably. "She'll go into shock." To Kathy he said softly, "I know it probably hurts but I'd like to take a look. Will you let me?" Kathy nodded tiredly as Walker gently unbuttoned her gown. He'd rather have torn it for bandages but she'd nothing else to wear and they still had a long way to travel before they found his Ram…if they did. He judged the wound to have been made by a .38 hunting rifle; it had cleanly penetrated the muscle in the shoulder and seemed to have missed the collar bone before exiting out the front. He listened to her breathing and was fairly certain the shot had not pierced her lung. "A little worse than a graze," he admitted, "but it's a clean shot. Once we get the bleeding stopped, you should be fine."

"There's some first aid supplies in my saddle bag," she told him.

Walker nodded. "John's getting them. You just lay still for a bit and I'll have this fixed up in a moment." John brought back the first aid kit and some clean rags he had wet in the stream. Walker cleansed the wound before dowsing it with alcohol, packing it with gauze, and binding the arm to her side so the packing would not come loose during travel. The head wound he left alone; it truly was only a graze, though he marveled at the uncanny luck which had saved the girl's life. _If that bronc we were riding hadn't started pitching like that…_He halted that train of thought as unproductive and turned his attention to making Kathy more comfortable. Almost tenderly, he buttoned her gown back up and then settled her into the curve of his arm.

John tossed the second bedroll over both of them. "I'll take the first watch. You to get some sleep and replenish your strength."

Exhausted from the wild ride and the anxiety over Kathy's wounds, Walker didn't protest. "Wake me immediately if they come back."

"I don't think they'll find us," Kathy spoke up sleepily. "This isn't the first time I've had to use this cave as a layover because of criminal activities. If the rustlers couldn't find it, Wilson won't be able to either."

"Let's hope so," said Walker and told John, "Keep my sidearm ready but don't take any shots unless you're certain you'll hit them on the first try. We may have to fight our way out of here and we're running low on ammunition." They heard John slipping outside the cave entrance and taking up his position on the rocks above the entrance. Sleep, however, seemed to elude Walker. Curious, he asked Kathy a question. "What about your remaining family? Why are you out on your own?"

"I have an aunt and uncle," she confirmed, "as well as several cousins, nieces, and nephews, and one older brother. Wilson came and took me to the Cottonwood facility just after my twelfth birthday. It took them almost three years to pay off that bond. When I turned fifteen I was, as John told you, considered an adult. If I'd been a normal Navajo girl, they would have been considering marriage proposals. However, the same reasons which landed me in Belmonte's clutches also kept me from having any acceptable prospected. They thought it best to provide for me with a small parcel of land. I bought the horses with my dowry and began breeding them but until the blood lines are well established, the cattle are what make money for the ranch." Mention of the ranch brought a fresh wave of sorrow as she realized she no longer had a home. "Look, I don't want to talk about this right now. Would it be okay if we just went to sleep?"

"Of course, Kathy," Walker said. He pulled her close into a fatherly embrace and the two of them allowed sleep to overtake them at last.


	15. Road to Somewhere

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 15 – Road to Somewhere**

"_Please come now I think I'm falling  
I'm holding on to all I think is safe  
It seems I found the road to nowhere  
And I'm trying to escape  
I yelled back when I heard thunder  
But I'm down to one last breath"_

**----- "**One Last Breath" performed by Creed

A keyhole valley in the Sangre de Cristos of New Mexico

Sounds penetrated Kathy's sleep first, voices low and masculine holding a serious conversation. They ought to have disturbed her, for there were no men living with her on the ranch, but an unexpected sense of loss in connection with her home kept her from examining her apprehensions too closely. Her subconscious labeled the voices as familiar and therefore of no concern. She settled more deeply into the blankets and tried to go back to sleep but a nagging feeling she had missed some vital detail niggled at her memory. The smell of wood smoke and brewing coffee tickled her senses. However, a soft apologetic cough finally brought her completely awake. She rolled over, groaning as the hard ground jammed into her injured shoulder. Her first inclination was to check on the Ranger but he no longer slept beside her. "Walker!" Kathy called, bolting upright and looking frantically around her in wild-eyed confusion.

"I didn't mean to wake you." His voice came from somewhere near the horses. She heard his boots approach and opened her eyes to find Walker sitting back on his heels beside her. She _hated _coming awake suddenly, preferring instead to allow consciousness to descend upon her gradually while she sifted through the prior day's accomplishments and set up the tasks for the current day. The glare she tossed at the Ranger would have frozen fire. He simply grinned at her disgruntlement and tousled her hair. "Morning, sleepyhead."

Kathy groaned again and pulled the blanket up over her head. "Walker," she muttered reproachfully, "I am _not_ a morning person."

"I can see that," he replied noncommittally, "but I've got something which might help with that." He eased down beside her, helped her sit up, and offered her a steaming mug of coffee. She curled her fingers around the handle of the blue enamel mug and sipped cautiously. Her eyes widened in appreciation and by the time she'd finished it Kathy found herself in a more charitable mood. "I'll live," she said and peered anxiously at the Ranger. "I don't like the sound of that cough, Walker. How are _you_ feeling?"

_Damn it._ Walker didn't want to answer that question; the knowledge of her true age had shifted his feelings for her and now he wanted to protect her from any further worries. _After all, underneath that adult act she's just a scared kid. _However, he didn't feel comfortable lying to her either --- _and she's so perceptive I probably couldn't get away with it anyway _--- and only force of will kept him going. He ached worse than he ever had after the roughest of karate matches and battling the constant nausea was really wearing him down."I feel about as bad as you look," he told her bluntly and now he was mocking her, "but I'll live."

"I'll be the judge of that, Ranger Walker." Kathy found that if she moved carefully, the gunshot wound did not hurt badly and did not impede movement. She held a hand to his forehead. "Still running a fever," she chided him. "Headache? Blurred vision?" He started to deny it when a wave of dizziness nearly overpowered him; it felt as though someone had kicked him in the back of the head. Kathy saw his eyes losing focus and persuaded him to lie back down. "You rest for a while; you've been doing too much. Did you sleep at all?"

_She's going to think it's either because of her age or her disabilities. If I do end up as her guardian, I'll have to find a way to get that particular chip off her shoulder._ "John and I took turns setting the watch," Walker admitted reluctantly. "Wilson and his boys are still out there."

"You ought to have awakened me!" she yelled indignantly. "I'm not so crippled I couldn't have taken a watch."

"You'd lost so much blood from that shoulder wound I thought it best you get as much rest as possible. Kathy," he said reasonably, his tone unapologetic, "you know this back country best. I'm counting on you to get us out of here safely so we can get back to Dallas and put Wilson and his buddies behind bars where they belong. We need you."

Somewhat mollified by his explanation, Kathy decided the argument wasn't worth pursuing. She rummaged around in her saddle bag for a few things and stood up. "I think I'll wash up in the stream."

Walker had, during one of his watches, explored the surrounding area. When Kathy had chosen this place for refuge, she had chosen well. The keyhole through which they had dodged to gain access opened out into a narrow valley in which even in winter prairie grass suitable for grazing horses grew in abundance. A plume of water cascaded over the side of the sandstone walls in to a shallow basin from which a streamlet flowed between banks lined with young cottonwoods --- branches barren of leaves in this season --- before it trickled out of the valley on the opposite end and disappeared underground once more. The sandstone innards of the old mountain were pocked with an interconnecting cavern system which, after doubling back upon itself, returned to the surface nearly a half mile from their current location. That entrance emerged on a narrow shelf of rock in the side of the mountain which was nearly invisible and could only be traversed by an experienced horseman or hiker. He wasn't worried about anyone seeing her if she chose to bathe in the stream.

Walker watched her go, heard her raise her voice in a chant of greeting to the sun. _She may not be able to guide that bronc with only one good arm and he clearly doesn't like carrying people on his back. I may be able to do something about that._ If he breathed shallowly and moved slowly, it did not result in another coughing fit. He edged his way toward the hobbled horses.

Comanche had not been wiped down last night. The blue roan paint looked rather miserable standing there with dried foam and sweat caking his hide. He flicked an ear in Walker's direction and bared his teeth irritably. "Whoa, boy," Walker said softly, making certain the horse could see him clearly and could read his intentions. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to make you more comfortable. Is that okay?" The stallion watched him warily but did not bite when the Ranger reached inside the saddle bags and brought out a curry comb. Still moving slowly and talking soothingly, he began brushing out the animal's hair. Comanche, provisionally accepting this human as a necessary annoyance, leaned into the brush snorting in pleasure. "You and I," Walker told him as he brushed at the strong, proudly arched neck, "will have to tolerate one another for your mistress' sake. She's hurt and can't guide you, but I can. Will you let me do that?" Comanche's ears tilted forward as he apparently considered Walker's proposal, and tossing his head as he flicked his mane, grudgingly allowed the Ranger to grab the chin strap on the halter.

When Kathy returned, dressed for riding in fresh flannel shirt and jeans, she found the Ranger still holding onto Comanche's halter and talking softly to the horse. "You look a lot better," he observed.

"You don't," she countered tartly. "John dressed the wound with fresh bandages and immobilized the shoulder," she told him, noticing Walker's questioning glance at her right arm still bound tightly to her chest. "He's out there scouting a new route for us which hopefully Wilson won't be smart enough to notice. Have you eaten anything?"

"I'd rather not." He hadn't drunk anything either because he'd been sick so many times he was afraid to try. The mere suggestion of food still caused Walker to be assaulted by an unpleasant wave of nausea.

She realized that the Ranger's condition was so weakened that Comanche had to take up the slack with his head in order to keep the man from falling to the ground. His hands, wrapped around the chin strap on the halter, trembled. _Good horse, you keep looking out for my Ranger. _"Lie down, Walker," Kathy told him, not unkindly but in a tone of voice so firm that it brooked no argument.

Both man and horse eyed her with trepidation, as if she might explode. Walker noticed the horse's expression, probably a mirror of his own, and chuckled. "She's got us both pegged, buddy. We can't pull anything over on her, can we?" If Walker noticed the stallion shadowing him until he was able to lie down on the bed roll, he was too exhausted to comment. Besides, he knew perfectly well he'd overextended himself and would not have made it across the cavern without the animal's help. _What a magnificent horse! When this is all over, I'll have to ask Kathy about putting him to some of my mares._

Kathy made him as comfortable as would be possible under the circumstances and began making her own breakfast. From a leather pouch around her neck she shook out a measure of corn meal. This she added to a bowl of water simmering on the makeshift hearth and tossed in a bit of sugar from the saddle bags. It made a thin cereal which Walker recognized as a dietary staple which had long been in use by different tribes when riding trails. "It really ought to have berries and dried meat in it," she explained, "but I hadn't had time to really pack enough supplies for this trip." She sighed, thinking of her demolished home; the adult was gone, replaced by a confused and hurting adolescent. "I…I guess I didn't think Wilson would go this far to get John Quail back. He was always ruthless where Belmonte's assets were concerned but never destructive."

The tears streaking her cheeks fell unbidden into Walker's outstretched hand as he gently wiped them away. "Kathy," he said quietly. "Kathy, look at me." She raised her head, looked steadily into those earnest blue eyes. "I can promise you that I _will_ get these guys and they'll never hurt anyone again."

"I believe you." She swept the hair back from her face and began braiding it up; in one motion, the adult façade was back in place. "I'm going to rebuild," she said defiantly. "He may have destroyed my home, but no one can take away my right to the land."

"You'll have help," Walker promised. "I've got to get this misunderstanding with Trivette straightened out when I get back but then I've got some time off coming." _That_ was an understatement of the worst sort; the Ranger hadn't taken a vacation for himself in years unless forced to do so by an injury and even then he had been known to return to the office as soon as he could physically get away with doing so. "They may try to take your land and assets from you anyway," he felt compelled to tell her.

"I managed to save a few important items," she confided in him. "The deed to the ranch is hidden in my saddlebags, as is the studbook for the horse herd and the logbook which documents my brands for the cattle."

"Good girl, Kathy!" Walker smiled warmly in approval of the foresight she had demonstrated. "Wilson and Belmonte won't be able to legally touch those assets as long as you have that information in your possession." He decided not to mention that if they had discovered those items were missing, it would give them more incentive to continue pursuit.

"There's something else we should talk about…just in case."

Alerted by the seriousness in her voice, Walker sat up and gave Kathy his full attention. "What's on your mind, kiddo?"

"This." She thrust into his hand a finely carved mustang fetish. Walker had never seen one like it before. Carved in a warm brown stone, the little horse fit comfortably into his palm. It had been rendered in a playful bucking position, head down and back arched, and the artisan had patiently rendered the exact texture of the mane and tail. Turquoise eyes twinkled back at him and the tiny silver links in the onyx bridle jingled softly when Walker turned it over to examine the medicine bundle on its back. What he had first taken for moss or horsehair was actually a portion of an eagle feather bound to the fetish with the traditional pine needles decorated with small coral beading. It resonated with him, made him feel stronger.

"It's a beautiful piece," he said and tried to hand it back to her.

Kathy shook her head, refusing. "It's yours."

"I can't keep this," Walker protested. "This was made by a skillful craftsman and it's obviously a powerful item."

"It belongs with you," she insisted. "That's the one I used when I guided you through the Nightways but it has other, more important uses and meanings. The courts are going to make my tribal affiliation an issue when the judge tries to appoint a guardian, won't they?"

"Yeah, it's going to be a major issue. For your own good, they'll want to put you with a foster family…at least until someone from your blood family or your tribe comes forward to look after your interests. We won't be able to convince any judge in Texas that you have adult status."

"There's nothing which can be done to change that? I'd really rather stay with you, Walker. I wouldn't feel safe with anyone else, especially not while Wilson and Belmonte are still running loose."

"Well," Walker temporized, "it'll be difficult to convince the judge of that."

"But not impossible," she pressed eagerly, sensing his indecisiveness.

Walker's smile held a hint of steel and stubbornness. "I think given enough time, the courts could be persuaded to see it my way."

"They'll get the Diné Nation involved?"

"By law, they have to."

"That's why I gave you that mustang fetish. It's mine," she explained. "I carved it and the tribal elders will recognize the work. If anything happens to me and I can't tell them what I want or they won't listen, show that to whoever they send down from the Diné Nation. It empowers you to speak for me."

Walker, nodding, tucked the little horse away in his jacket pocket. "I'm sure it won't come to that. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Kathy, and you'll be given a chance to tell them what you want."

On impulse, Kathy hugged the Ranger hard. Startled and unaccustomed to such affection, Walker stiffened before he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and held her. "Thanks, Walker. That…that means a lot to me. I'd better start packing up so we can get out of here and off this mountain!"

She blurred it skillfully, pulling her shirt sleeve down over it as she got up, but Walker's sharp eyes saw it anyway. He stared at it hard, hardly believing what he had seen. _That looks like a…. _"Kathy…that mark on your arm. How'd you come by it?"

"It's nothing important," she demurred and continued gathering up the cutlery so she could wash it in the stream and pack it away.

"Well, it looks like an owner's brand to me," Walker countered. "Want to tell me how it got there?"

"Not really," Kathy muttered without much hope that the Ranger would take the hint and drop the subject.

"Wilson did that to you, didn't he?" Walker pressed.

"Yes!" She spit the word at him as though it tasted bad. "Anyone being processed into the Cottonwood facility has one. It's a mark of ownership." She rolled up her sleeve and showed him a burn scar composed of a double row of slashes and angles. "They're similar to the branding codes used on wild range horses." She pointed to a bell curve mark with a triple triangle inside the base. "That first character is the trademark logo for Belmonte Industries. It's followed by a two digit code for the birth year. The series of marks following it indicates the zip code for the area from which the 'asset' was collected. That's for breeding purposes; Belmonte doesn't want his prime 'stock' in-breeding," Kathy said bitterly. "The column under it represents a registration number which tells both buyer and seller how long the 'asset' has been retained and for what tasks it has been trained, like a catalogue number."

Walker had been in law enforcement for a long time and had more than a passing acquaintance with the cruel and conscious-less deeds human beings could visit upon one another. The growing ramifications of this case, however, appalled him and offended his sense of justice to the deepest level. _I've got to get this _stopped_ once and for all when I get back to Dallas. Belmonte needs to be taken down and I don't care if he _is_ one of the most prominent businessmen in Texas._ "I'm sorry, Kathy." It didn't begin to express his remorse over her humiliation. _To be branded as property and sold like an animal…_

She finished packing the cleaned cutlery and then kicked dirt over the coals on their makeshift hearth. "Just get them behind bars and make certain Cottonwood gets shut down and stays that way," she said. "I'm going to hold you to that promise."

"It's one I intend to keep, whatever it costs."


	16. This Broken Feeling

**Chapter 16 – This Broken Feeling**

"_Everybody knows that the dice are loaded_

_Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed_

_Everybody knows that the war is over_

_Everybody knows that the good guys lost_

_Everybody knows the fight is fixed_"

----- "Everybody Knows" performed by Concrete Blonde

Sangre de Cristo Mountains

John Quail, out of breath from running, approached them as Kathy was placing the bed roll on the cantle of the saddle. Comanche, disliking the sudden motion and noise, shied violently. It took her a few minutes, one handed, to calm the big stallion and even then he continued to paw the ground nervously and roll his eyes. "This had better be important, John," she snapped at him. "You ought to know better than to approach a half broken horse like that."

"We need to get moving and get out of here fast!" exclaimed John. "Wilson and his boys haven't given up. They're quartering the entire mountainside looking for us."

Roused from a light sleep by the edge of panic in John Quail's voice, Walker shot to his feet. His body resented the quick response and a sharp, stabbing pain lanced up from his stomach to the crown of his head before rebounding and settling uncomfortably as a dull ache in his chest. He staggered and grabbed at an outcropping of rock to keep himself from falling. "We've got to get out of here now," Walker managed before another fit of coughing bent him double. Kathy darted toward him but he held up a hand to ward her off. "I'm okay, I'm okay," he panted. "Don't worry about me right now, just mount up and ride."

With her right arm bound to her side, Kathy did not have enough leverage to pull herself into the saddle; together, Walker and John lifted her until she was able to grab the saddle horn. Somehow Walker found the strength to mount the horse himself, though Comanche danced and tossed his head in an effort to get away from the lawman. "Be at ease, friend," Kathy whispered desperately to the plunging stallion as she pulled back ineffectually on the reins.

"You stop that," Walker commanded, speaking directly to the horse as he kneed Comanche sharply in the ribs and tried to limit the horse's ability to buck. _If he gets his head down, he'll throw us both and we'll never catch him again…assuming we survive the fall._

"I don't think he likes you, Ranger Walker," Kathy said uneasily as Comanche continued to dance around trying to throw them both off. The big horse's eyes were rolled back until the whites showed in a ring around the dark iris. "He's trying to buck!"

"Here," said Walker, "give me the reins." He took them out of her good hand and pulled the beast up short. "Well, what'll it be, boy?" he asked the horse, making eye contact. Comanche, in the act of bending back to nip Walker's calf, froze and cast a baleful glare at the man who held the reins. "The easy way or the hard way?" The horse seemed to consider the words carefully and flicked an ear back in irritation. His body language made it clear that he still did not like the Ranger riding him but he also seemed to understand he had no choice about it. With a snort and a final buck --- the equine equivalent of the last word --- he ceased his antics and placidly followed the mare up the path.

"Comanche's stubborn but he's a good horse," Kathy said apologetically, "and he's a superior stud. His foals are long limbed, beautifully proportioned, and fast. Most of them have surprisingly good dispositions."

"Hoping to get a racer one day?" John asked his cousin.

"The thought had occurred to me," she admitted with a wry grin, "but I haven't perfected the pedigree. Most are a little too heavy through the chest or short in the leg. I train them and sell them for dressage or saddle, though a few of the wilder ones have made it onto the rodeo circuit."

"There are good and bad lines in the wild broncs," John agreed. "It's always a gamble introducing bronc stock into your bloodlines but if you get the right combination, they run as well as any Thoroughbred and they're often more hardy."

"You couldn't have bought Comanche," Walker said with certainty. "I didn't see a government registration number on him."

"I didn't," Kathy admitted. "A heavy storm, worse than this one was, blew down off the Sangre de Cristo range late last spring. The next morning, when I went down to call in the mares, he was there with them. I never knew his story and probably never will; he had several rips from running through barbed wire and I dug a bunch of buckshot out of his flank. There's an odd scar just shy of the jugular which turned out to be an old gunshot wound, well healed over."

"Sounds like someone was hunting the poor guy," John said.

"It happens all too often in Texas," Walker added. "That would explain why he had no mares with him and went after yours instead. He may have been the only survivor."

"I suppose it's possible," Kathy acknowledged. "Some of the ranchers don't like the mustangs because they claim the animals compete with the sheep for grazing." She sniffed disdainfully, miffed. "_I_ would rather have the horses. The horses don't graze the range into the ground until there's nothing left.

"At some point, someone at least had a saddle and bridle on him; Comanche knew what they were but he's never liked them. I rode him once to see if he _could_ be ridden and then never tried it again. No brand mark and no one ever claimed him so he stayed with me. We just seem to have been destined for one another. Have _you_ ever had a horse like that, Walker?"

The Ranger, remembering Santana and his herd, smiled. "He wasn't mine to keep but yes, I've ridden a horse like that. As I told Trivette and Alex, I've known seven great horses in my life and I thought that horse was six of 'em!"

They had reached the opposite side of the valley where, as Walker had discovered earlier, a short narrow passage traveled through the rock and emerged on the other side at a steep, rocky trail. The storm had all but died out; a few small flakes drifted down occasionally but the cloud cover had thinned and the occasional blue patch of sky could be seen far to the west. The snow had blown across the mountain in high drifts and lay in a deep pristine layer over the land.

John reined in his mare at the top of the path. "It will be impossible to hide our tracks in this," he said, worried. "Wilson _will_ catch up to us."

"All right," said Walker, taking charge, "we'll need to stick close together then and try to get as far ahead of them as possible. Let the horses take the lead coming down this path; they'll know better than us where they can safely put their feet and how fast they can travel."

The horses minced their way down the path and into the bottom of the draw. Snow, so deep it touched their bellies on occasion, surged around their fetlocks. The riders were thoroughly soaked and cold by the time the horses gained good footing in a dry stream bed and eased into a gallop.

Walker clamped his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering; Kathy, at least, had stopped shivering once they had cleared the drifts and clods of snow kicked up by scrabbling hooves no longer hit them. He was glad she had had a change of clothing in her saddle bags because he didn't think she would have survived this grueling weather and unforgiving terrain wearing nothing but a flannel nightgown. He had tried to give her his jacket as well, thin and unsuited though it was for this sort of weather, and she had refused.

"You're still a very sick man, Ranger Walker. The exposure might kill you. I've ridden in worse with less. The bed roll and Comanche's body heat protect me from the worst of the cold."

John Quail had done an excellent job dressing and binding her shoulder wound; it didn't hurt, even in the cold, and Kathy still had good mobility. As long as Comanche decided to cooperate, she wouldn't have any problems giving him instructions. The bridle was mostly a formality for her anyhow; Kathy preferred to teach her animals to respond to the subtle flexing of a rider's thighs and calves because it kept their mouths from getting hard and allowed a closer partnership with the horse.

Kathy worried about Walker, though. She could tell the Ranger was rapidly losing strength with each hour they were out here in the wilderness. Walker kept a stoic expression on his impassive face but rode hunched forward in the saddle. He'd given up trying to fight off the chills which shook him. "Kathy, what are you doing?" he asked, confused. He'd only now become aware that she was trying to take the reins from his hands.

"Ranger Walker, you're exhausted. I can handle the horse. Comanche won't act up now that he knows what's expected of him. You need to rest." Walker, frustrated with this fever which robbed him of his strength and deprived him of the ability to do a simple thing like riding a horse, gave her no argument. She tucked the reins into the opposite hand and pulled Walker against her chest with her good arm. Cradled against her, Walker passed into an uneasy sleep. He never ceased shivering; the tremors were becoming so strong it was all she could do to keep them both from falling under the powerful stallion's hooves. "John," she called, "we've got to do something. He's going to die if we don't get him warm."

John Quail pulled his mare up so short she almost sat down in the stream bed. "There's no way we can build a fire; they'll spot the smoke plume and be on top of us like dogs fighting over a bone. We can't stop for long, this is the best I can do." He dismounted and, bedroll in hand, strode over to his cousin's horse. This time he gave Comanche's head wide berth so that the stallion could see him coming. Kathy said something to the animal in Navajo and he stood still while John wrapped the blanket as closely as possible around the unconscious Ranger.

A bit of awareness stole back into the Ranger's eyes. He weakly grasped the big Navajo's hand to get his attention and said, "Thanks."

John pulled his hat down low over his face to hide his expression. He'd gotten attached to this taciturn, rough lawman from Texas who had been the only one in the big Navajo's young life to ever ask for, much less listen to, his story. He'd seen dying men before and recognized the same look about Ranger Walker. His dark eyes glittered with emotion as he firmly returned the grasp. "No problem, Ranger. You'll be all right now." John sprinted back to the mare and vaulted onto her back. "Let's ride!"

The delay, however brief, had cost them. Twice one of the two men with Wilson got close enough to get off a shot but they were barely outside of target range. The bullets chewed into the ground harmlessly a few feet behind the horses. Kathy spared a glance backward over her shoulder. "Damn it!" she swore. "That explains why they were able to find us so quickly. The bastard is riding my best trail horse, the strawberry gelding I normally use for tracking. That horse is smart and he knows these mountains. We've got to get ahead of them somehow!" She thought furiously for a moment and then, signing because she knew their pursuers could neither read it nor hear it, said, "There's a narrow trail through the next grove of cottonwoods. You'll have to take the mare over a fence to hit it, but she'll jump it if you nudge her enough. We'll go that way and then head for the creek I told you about. That should take us to the highway."

The horses galloped up out of the dry stream bed and scrabbled onto the drift covered banks. A barbed wire fence, the relic of someone's failed homestead attempt, separated the dense cottonwood grove from the banks of the stream. The mare went first; John gathered her for a jump and Kathy sighed in relief when they cleared the top strand by mere inches.

"Your turn, boy," she told the stallion and touched her heels to his flanks. Comanche gathered his long, powerful piston-like legs beneath him and sailed over the fence after his mare.

At the highest arc of the difficult jump, the crack of a rifle report broke the stallion's concentration. He stumbled and the drift on the other side of the fence was deeper than it looked. The front half of the horse plunged down and the big blue roan paint fell forward onto his knees. Another shot rang out; someone was trying to make certain none of them got up again! "C'mon, Comanche," Kathy called, pulling desperately on the reins as she tried to get his head up, "get up, boy. Oh, please, get up!"

Comanche's ears rotated back, listening to his young mistress' pleas. He was winded and the fall had hurt but he could not ignore that voice --- provider of warmth, bringer of oats, the other half of his spirit to which he had willingly given his partnership. If nothing else, the bringer of oats was almost as precious as a mare and must be protected. Heaving mightily with his back legs, Comanche pushed himself free of the drift and regained solid footing. In a moment he had caught up to the mare; no mare could be allowed to surpass him!

The stallion's gait was a bit stiff and uneven but Kathy determined that Comanche had done himself no lasting harm in the fall. "Good horse," she crooned, patting his shoulder, "I knew you could do it." She brought the big stallion abreast of the mare and allowed them to exchanged pleasantries while she spoke with John. "I doubt they can follow here. The strawberry gelding is too well trained to take a jump like that and the other two mounts Wilson's men stole follow his lead. They'll have to follow that stream bed until the fencing ends and then cut across to the county road."

No further shots were fired at them. John set a more moderate pace, winding between close grown cottonwood and aspen. The horses had it easier for the umbrella-like branches of the piñon pine had prevented the snows from gathering on the ground. The soft, pine needle covered earth made their passage almost soundless and since Kathy had not yet shod them, they left no imprints on the frozen ground. Twenty minutes later, they found the creek Kathy had indicated would take them down to the highway. The edges were rimed with frost and rotten ice. Both horses balked at the sharp sound of the ice shattering as they stepped through it, but soon they were wading downstream, unconcerned by ice or cold and occasionally swimming when it got deep enough to do so.

The creek became a stream and then a river, winding its way through a steep red rock canyon in a series of switchbacks. When small runs of mild rapids began appearing, Kathy gestured to John Quail to leave the river. "We'll travel along the bank at this point," she signed. "Once we're out of this box canyon, the highway is only a half mile further."

"All right, but let me lead," John signed back. "You have enough to worry about tending to the Ranger and keeping that jug headed stallion of yours in line. I'm going to scout ahead, you stay here for the moment." He put his heels into the mare and the two of them cantered off.

Kathy had grown more worried about the Ranger as they traveled. He had alternated between a light sleep and offering the occasional comment during the first hours of their journey down the river. She had not had time to teach him Navajo sign and she could not read American Sign Language but Walker kept his voice low so they would not be overheard and the sound of their voices would not carry. It had been a while, however, since he had said anything to her at all. Pulling Comanche up under one of the piñons, where they were sheltered from the wind and light snow still falling, she brushed her hand against the side of Walker's face as she tried to coax some response from him. The skin felt hot and dry; as she'd suspected, the fever had spiked again. "Oh, Walker," she whispered, "you've got to hang in there just a little longer. You've just got to!" She needed him awake and able to protect them, not nearly comatose. Frustrated, Kathy pulled off her glove and procured a handful of snow. "If this doesn't wake you, nothing will," she sighed…and dumped it down the collar of his shirt.

The cold, icy water sluicing down his back as it melted _did_ bring the Ranger back to consciousness. Walker came to with a startled yell and, reacting purely on instinct, twisted around in the saddle to tackle her. They both fell from the horse and landed with a jarring thud on the bare frozen ground. He flipped her over, grabbed her free arm, and locked it up behind her back. Panting heavily, he held her pinned like that while he secured his other arm across her windpipe.

Kathy's eyes widened in panic; it was getting difficult to breathe and, judging from the ferocious expression on the Ranger's face, he had no idea what he was doing…or to whom. _If I make a wrong move, it'll all be over because he'll snap my neck. _"Walker! Walker!" Kathy cried. "Walker, it's me…Kathy. Stop it, you're hurting me!" Walker tightened his grip on her throat and the bright feverish glaze in his eyes held no recognition, no sign that he had even heard her. _This is it, then. He's going to kill me and he won't even realize what he's doing._

Comanche, who in spite of his wildness _was_ well trained, had stopped as soon as he felt the riders gone from his back. The wild, kingly portion of his spirit which governed the herd and ruled over range and pasture told him to be rid of these puny two legged nuisances, to take his mare and head home. Something else, however, bound him to remain. The small one loved him and had charged him with carrying and protecting both riders. Out of loyalty to her, the bringer of oats, the stallion stayed. As he walked closer, he smelled her fear. It looked to the confused horse as though one human had turned wild cat. There was only one way to deal with such threats, especially when they threatened the beloved bringer of oats. With one swipe of his powerfully muscled neck, Comanche swept the Ranger aside. He pawed the ground and neighed a challenge, daring the man to attack something he, a wild stallion of these craggy ranges, held dear.

Kathy lay on her back gasping and gulping sweet breaths of air. She scrabbled out of Walker's way, putting the horse between herself and him in case he tried to attack her again. Walker, still kneeling, sat motionless staring at his hands. The wildness had gone from his eyes, leaving a horrified realization of the deed he had almost committed. With an anguished cry, he crawled over to her and swept her up into his arms. She clung to him, crying piteously. "Walker! Walker, you almost…"

"I know, Kathy, I know," he said, rocking her. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm so sorry."

"Never mind, Ranger Walker," she said softly, patting his cheek. "I'm all right. Let's catch Comanche before he changes his mind about hanging around and get out of her. John ought to be back soon."

As if on cue John Quail, rifle drawn and leveled at them, came crashing back through the brush. "Kathy! Are you all right? I thought I heard yells….You're hurt," he observed, seeing the blood seeping slowly through the flannel at her shoulder.

"I must have opened it up when I fell from the horse," Kathy said. "The bleeding ought to stop soon. Let's get going."

"What happened here?" John asked, confused.

"I ought to know better than to suddenly wake someone with such a high fever, especially someone with Walker's reflexes," Kathy said sheepishly. "I was trying to bring his temperature down and I startled him."

"Kathy," said Walker reproachfully, "I almost killed you…"

"But you didn't," she said firmly. "We had Comanche looking out for us. I'm fine, honestly. Now can we please get going? I'd like to find your Ram and hopefully be off this mountain and on the way to Taos by nightfall."

As Kathy reached for Comanche's reins, something round and crackling rolled into the clearing. Stunned and still recovering from nearly being strangled, Kathy's senses failed to register it as a danger…but Walker, sick and fevered though he was, recognized it. "Watch out!" he yelled. "John, get the horses out of here. Everyone, get down and stay that way until I tell you otherwise!" His hand darted out, grasped the cylinder, and Walker threw it with all his might in the direction of the river. It landed with a splash, followed seconds later by a hollow _boom!_ as the world exploded around them. A plume of water eight feet high catapulted out of the river bed and rained down upon them, followed by a percussive wave of heat which flattened them to the ground.

All three heard a string of curses which made Kathy's face burn with embarrassment and a voice saying, "Damnit, Harrolton, can't you follow orders? Belmonte wants them alive, not as hamburger!"

Walker knew that name; he and Trivette had hauled Harrolton in several times in connection with bomb assisted arsons and contracted hits but had never been able to get the charges to stick. Each time, someone --- and, thanks to Kathy he now knew who --- had hired an expensive lawyer to exploit holes in the defense until the judge was forced to release him on a technicality. "If Harrolton's involved, we're in a lot of trouble," he said to no one in particular. "Harrolton's a former demolitions expert and his favorite means of killing is to arrange an "accident" involving explosives. He doesn't give up and he doesn't follow orders."

A voice rang out from the cliffs above them. "While watching this little tableau has been emotionally gratifying, I don't have time for it. You've been a naughty boy, John, and Mr. Belmonte is not pleased. I have orders to kill the Ranger and he doesn't care one way or the other about Kathy but I'll let them go if you surrender."

"Don't do it, John," Walker said, placing a hand firmly on the boy's arm. To Wilson, he called, "Give it up, you're under arrest!"

A maniacal guffaw sounded from above. "That…that's funny, boss. He thinks he's going to take us in by himself."

"Shut up, you moron!" Wilson snapped. "Cute, Ranger, but in order for that to happen you would have to have two things, neither of which you possess. We can see you but you have no idea where _we_ are and I think someone is out of his jurisdiction. No, I think we will be taking back Mr. Belmonte's assets and leaving another lawman's grave in these mountains."

"How did they find us?" John whispered to the Ranger.

"The answer to that question is rather simple, John Quail," Wilson answered. "If you can't figure it out for yourself, why don't you ask your gimpy little friend?"

"Bastard!" Kathy yelled in Wilson's direction. "You have no business taking what isn't yours."

He laughed. "She may not look like much but she evidently has a brain in her head. Woman, I must thank you for the loan of these worthy mounts. You've raised some truly impressive hunting horses and they know these mountains almost as well as you do."

"Damnit, he's right!" Kathy snarled. "John, give me the saddle gun."

"What are you going to do?" Walker asked.

"As long as they have my horses, they'll be able to follow us anywhere." Resolutely, she loaded a shell and checked the sights. "I…I'm going to take them out."

"Kathy…" _Damn this fever anyway_. It didn't leave him an opportunity to think clearly, to find another way for them to survive this untenable situation. He knew it would kill something inside her to slaughter her beloved animals but he understood and agreed with her reasons. "Do what you need to do," Walker told her quietly. "We'll make them pay for it later."

She took aim and pulled the trigger. The crack of the big Winchester echoed off the canyon walls, followed by the ear splitting scream of a mortally wounded horse which caused the fine hairs on the back of Kathy's neck to stand on end. A large reddish horse, its black mane and tail streaming behind it, tumbled over the cliff and fell into the swift running water. Someone fired a few shots at them. Walker covered Kathy's body with his and prayed John was smart enough to lie low. Walker listened hard in the oppressive silence until he heard the sound of Wilson and his two hired men making a hasty retreat.

Her strength spent, Kathy let the muzzle sag toward the ground. "That was my prize hunting horse," she said brokenly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He was the first horse I brought onto the ranch and the one I always took with me when we were moving or rounding up cattle."

"It was a brave, mature thing you did," Walker told her, his voice rough with emotion. "I'll make it up to you somehow but we need to get out of her now, put some miles between us and them. They'll be back. Wilson still doesn't have what he…where's John?"

"He was right next to us before the shooting started," said Kathy, frowning.

Walker was searching the ground near where they'd last seen John. "They've got him," the Ranger announced. "Harrolton's antics were just a smoke screen to keep us busy while someone else snuck around and ambushed him. Kathy, don't do anything stupid," he warned as he saw her reloading the Winchester. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going after my cousin," she told him. "Wilson's taken everything else from me. I'm not going to allow him to kill John too!"

"Kathy, listen to reason," Walker said, taking her by the arm. "You're hurt and I'm in no shape to take these guys on." He knew he had to choose his next words carefully, remembering that in spite of her adult demeanor Kathy was still a child. "In the business your cousin got himself involved in, the knowledge he has is hard to come by. No one but John can do what they need him to do so they're not going to kill him because Belmonte needs what John knows. He'll be safe until I can get some back-up and take these guys down permanently."

"All right, Ranger Walker," Kathy said. She did not take the shells from the Winchester but she did put the safety in place and return it to its scabbard. "We'll do things your way. But if anything happens to John…"

"We'll let the courts decide appropriate punishment," Walker said firmly, "and your testimony will see to it that Wilson and his boys get exactly what they deserve from the justice system." He helped her into the saddle and then, with her help, got up in front of her. A ghost of a smile played across his face. "Now, let's see if we can figure out what I did with my truck. I think it's been missing in action long enough, don't you?"

Walker's smile was infectious and Kathy found herself smiling back. With a brittle laugh, she stated, "Ranger Walker, _that_ is one of the biggest understatements I've ever heard." She flicked the reins against Comanche's neck and started him forward up the slope.

"You ought to hear some of the things my partner Trivette says."

"He seems very important to you; you talk about him a lot. What's he like?" she asked, trying to keep Walker distracted from his discomfort and responsive. She didn't want him falling unconscious again.

"Still very green," Walker replied, "and sometimes he gets on my nerves. Every week it seems like he's coming up with a new money making scheme which he thinks is a sure bet. But he learns quickly and if I _had_ to have a partner, I couldn't ask for a better one."

"You said he was in some sort of trouble," Kathy reminded him.

Walker nodded. "Yeah. Some evidence came up missing and a self-appointed community watch dog pointed the finger at Trivette. I'll admit, if you don't know him, that it looks bad but there's something about the whole situation which feels wrong to me. When I get back, I need to run down some leads I hadn't had a chance to look at so we can clear this up and get him off of desk duty. That's why he isn't here with me now."

"I'll bet Ms. Cahill will be glad to see you again," Kathy said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can tell you really like her. Are you two close?"

"We're _just_ _friends_," Walker insisted a little too forcefully. "She sees other people and in my line of work I don't exactly have much time for a personal life."

"You could make time. Ranger Walker, there's more to life than criminals and horses. You ought to take Ms. Cahill out on a date some time."

"I said, we're** just friends**. Nothing's ever going to happen between us. We spend too much time working together professionally."

Kathy laughed at him. "I've never in my life seen such transparent excuses from a commitment-shy man. Grayson said some of the same things before he left. I'd have followed that boy to the mouth of hell and back if he'd asked." A small, painful smile touched her eyes. "Greyson was my fiancé. He died in the Gulf War."

"You're a little young for that kind of relationship," Walker commented.

"Things don't work that way in the Navajo Nation," Kathy told him. "Love doesn't recognize age differences and I'd known Grayson ever since I could remember. He never minded my deformities; it was my mind he coveted. We were waiting to be married until I finished high school and turned eighteen. He had been working as a deputy in the tribal police office and talked about going to law school. When the Gulf War broke out, he felt it was his duty to enlist. I never saw him again. Walker, when you find love it's a precious thing. Don't waste the gift. You're blushing!" she accused him. "Why, Ranger Walker, I do believe you _are_ in love with Ms. Cahill."

"Kathy," Walker exclaimed, exasperated, "you're going to end this line of discussion now. Let's just concentrate on getting out of here without getting shot so we can rescue John."

"Have it your way," she responded tartly, "but you can't hide from your own heart forever. You know you love the woman. Do something about it while you still have the opportunity."

"You're as bad as CD and Trivette! I get enough ribbing from them, I don't need you starting in on me as well. I mean it, Kathy; stop trying to arrange my personal life."

"Someone has to look out for you," she muttered. "You're too stubborn and pigheaded to take care of things yourself!"

"Isn't that the highway you mentioned up ahead?" Walker asked, changing the subject.


	17. Truth or Consequence

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 17 – Truth or Consequence**

"_Don't the best of them bleed it out_

_While the rest of them peter out_

_Truth or consequence, say it aloud_

_Use that evidence, race it around"_

**----- "**My Hero" performed by Foo Fighters

CD's Blazer, driving up New Mexico 58 toward Cimarron

The three of them rode in tight lipped silence up the state highway as they headed for the second of the Mustang Talker ranches. An observer who couldn't read their murderous expressions might have chuckled and compared them to the Three Stooges: all three were covered in soot and scratches; Auguston had a black eye, LaFayette's left cheek bone was bandaged, and Trivette's suit --- as well as his temper --- was in shreds.

"David," he began in a sarcastically sweet tone. "Man, you are harder on my wardrobe than Walker _ever_ was. I've been shot at, tackled, tossed into pits, and dumped into quarries but I have _never_ had this happen before."

"What?" Auguston shot back. "I saved the crime scene, didn't I?"

"Next time," Trivette roared in anger, "that you decide to defuse a bomb without consulting anyone else, would you mind letting us all **know **_we're about to be blown to kingdom come_?"

"It's _his_ fault," Auguston responded sullenly, jerking a thumb in LaFayette's direction. "I _told _him that recognizing the bomb structure and de-constructing it were two entirely different things but he wouldn't listen. He said he'd hold me personally responsible if the bomb compromised the scene."

"And I would have," the little DEA agent snapped. "I may still do so. It was _your_ responsibility to clear the scene. _You_ didn't do it correctly so _we_ didn't have enough time to call in the bomb squad."

"You _do not_ want to go there, Harry," Trivette cut in. "The reason is none of your business, but I'm advising you to back away from that particular can of worms."

"Or you'll do what, Ranger?" LaFayette snarled belligerently.

"I'll pull over, kick both your behinds, turn this car around, and we'll all go home!" Trivette shouted, exasperated. "Now sit back there and shut up. Do you hear yourselves?"

The two men in the back seat, shocked into silence, stared at one another with their mouths open for a moment before closing them. Auguston was first to break the awkward silence. "I guess we were behaving pretty badly, huh?" he admitted sheepishly.

"You could say that." Trivette didn't seem quite ready to be friends again but he'd forgiven the younger Ranger at least. Though his knuckles showed yellow-white on the steering wheel, the start of a smile played about the corners of his mouth. "Just be grateful no one got seriously hurt."

"He _did_ preserve the crime scene,"LaFayette added graciously. "It's the only one so far which hasn't been partially or fully demolished by an explosion."

"We'll know a lot more when forensics gets finished with their analysis," Trivette said.

"Wasn't Walker an EOD expert?" LaFayette asked. "He could have…"

"Walker was Black Ops, not EOD," Auguston began. "Even if he wanted to, he couldn't have---"

"No, he couldn't," Trivette interrupted forcefully. "I told you, Walker's not involved in this. You don't know him like I do. The man's not a killer, especially not of innocent women and children."

"I read his file," LaFayette continued. "He's had a lot of people in his head, been through some experiences which would have broken most of us. Cops burn out or go bad. The man hasn't taken a vacation in years and he lives his life like someone who doesn't want to see tomorrow. There's always a possibility ---"

"Listen closely, Harry, because I'm not going to say this again," Trivette said, "_Not Walker._ Until you have evidence to the contrary, you will not so much as _whisper_ that theory in my presence or in the presence of _any_ Ranger. Got it?"

LaFayette would have protested and contested Trivette's authority to give him orders, but the CB crackled to life. "Rangers Trivette and Auguston, this is Clayton dispatch. Do you copy, over?"

"This is Ranger Trivette. Go ahead, dispatch."

"Captain Hendricks would like to speak with you, Ranger Trivette. I'll put him on now."

"Hendricks here," came the man's gruff voice. "The snow has all but stopped. Metro says we can get a chopper in the air within the next ten minutes and should have at least an hour before the other side of the storm sets in."

"Good to hear, Captain Hendricks. Anything else we need to know?"

"Your Rangers are here." Hendricks' tone of voice turned wry. "Apparently your Captain took you literally when you told him to roll the whole damned company if felt like he needed to. They're sitting here at the hotel champin' the bit to go rescue Walker and apprehend these nutcases. It's causing some issues with the local population. You Rangers never _were_ popular around these parts. Your Captain says you have field command. What do you want me to tell 'em?"

"Keep 'em out of sight and tell 'em to hold back until we know more."

"You got it, Ranger Trivette. One more thing: the preliminary forensic report on the Wagon Mound site is in. It confirms cyanide salts in the water and cyanide poisoning as the cause of death for both the victims and the livestock. No survivors. If it helps at all, the ME says they didn't suffer long. Death would have occurred in a matter of minutes."

"Any word on ballistics or from the handwriting expert?"

"Not much. According to ballistics, the round which killed the farmer was from a .357 magnum."

"Not a match to Walker's gun," Auguston mouthed. "Walker carries a .40 caliber."

"It was a close range shot, very professional," Hendricks continued. "Whoever fired it wanted to give the old man time to finish whatever he was doing and didn't want him to suffer but didn't dare leave him alive either. The handwriting expert has confirmed that the two samples found in the log book are from different people." Hendricks' voice took on a smug note. "The first matches the farmer's previous entries. The second is an unknown. I took the liberty of having it compared with certain known samples. It does _not_ match Walker's handwriting."

"Put _that_ in your pipe and smoke it, you good-for-nothing federal weasel," Auguston couldn't resist saying, but he uttered it so low that no one else could hear him.

"All right," Trivette acknowledged. "Send a copy of the unknown sample back down to Dallas and have Ms. Cahill get the court clerks on it. Tell them to compare it to criminals in the system who may fit the profile of either bomber or poisoner."

"Will do. Ranger Trivette, I'm going out with the chopper. We'll be in contact the moment we find anything."

"Copy that, Captain Hendricks. We'll keep heading in the direction of the other Mustang Talker ranch and rendezvous with you later. If we find out anything new, we'll call in."

"Good luck. I hope we can have you man home safe soon. Hendricks out."

LaFayette pointed. "Look, there's New Mexico 204. According to the map and instructions, the road to the second ranch is off of this one."

"Oh, brother," said Trivette, eyeing the narrow snow packed gravel track with distaste. "Hang on, fellas, it's going to be a rough ride."

The gravel road had been cut into a narrow valley between two mountain ranges. To either side of them, the mountains rose abruptly to rake the sky in intimidating craggy peaks. Loose balls of snow, some of them the size of a football, rolled down the sides as the old Blazer chugged through the valley. "Maybe we ought to wait until Hendricks can get a chopper up here," LaFayette suggested. "If the snow is that loose, the entire mountainside could come down and they wouldn't find us until spring."

"Just a little further," Trivette said.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Auguston said grimly. He pointed between the peaks to a thin plume of smoke coming up between them. "Look!"

"It could be smoke from a fireplace or a wood stove," LaFayette suggested dubiously.

"No," said Trivette with sick certainty. "We've seen it often enough that we ought to know what _that_ means by now." He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "I'm so tired of always being one step behind these guys! I'll call it in." He picked up the CB mike. "Ranger Trivette to Clayton dispatch. You read me?"

"Loud and clear, Ranger Trivette. What can I do for you?"

"Can you patch me into the chopper? I have some priority information Hendricks needs to hear."

"Will do, Ranger Trivette. Hold on a moment."

The line crackled with static and then Captain Hendricks came on. "We have you in sight, Ranger Trivette. The pass up ahead has been blocked by snow slide activity. Recommend you turn that thing around and proceed back up Mew Mexico 58 near Colfax."

"The second ranch is a no-go," Trivette informed him. "A large column of smoke has been sighted in the vicinity. It seems likely the perps have followed through with their MO at this site as well."

"Copy that, Ranger Trivette. We'll fly over the ranch and see if they left anything for us. There's still no sign of Walker's vehicle so keep an eye out for it." A few minutes later, when Trivette had safely guided them back to the paved road, Captain Hendricks contacted them again. "Yeah, this place has been torched. However, it looks as though _someone _made it out of here. I have horse tracks going out over the pasture and up into the foothills. We're going to follow those, see if they lead anywhere."

"That's a possibility, Captain Hendricks. Walker's an excellent horseman and survivalist."

Trivette could hear the frown in Hendricks' voice. "If those prints do belong to Walker, he's got someone else with him. We'll keep you advised. Hendricks out."

"This doesn't look good," Auguston admitted. "Why would he head up into the foothills instead of toward the road?"

"Lots of places to hide up there," LaFayette said speculatively, "especially for someone well versed in the old Ranger hide-outs and trails….like Walker."

"More likely he and the ranch owner already knew the road was impassable," Trivette said with a sour glance at the DEA agent. "Let's see what we can find out this way."

Trivette hadn't driven more than a few miles when the radio crackled to life once more. "This is Cimarron posse leader checking in. We picked up a blood trail on the north east bank of the Cimarron branch of the Vermejo River and have followed it down toward Colfax."

"How many sets of tracks do you count?" Captain Hendricks broke in. "We may have visual on an earlier trail."

"Two out front, two a distance behind," the posse leader replied. "Looks like they're making for New Mexico 58 and hoping to cut down to Cimarron."

"The Colfax posse leader reports having found a drowned saddle horse," the dispatcher broke in. "She says the animal was shot and appears to have fallen from a height."

"Visual on a late model Dodge Ram pick-up, off the road just past Colfax as you head down US 64 toward Cimarron," said one of the deputies. "Texas license plate alpha uniform niner zero seven five."

"Confirmed," Trivette responded. "That's Walker's truck. Anyone around it?"

"Affirmative. It looks like an ambush: I have visual on at least six men in a jeep, heavily armed, and an unknown party on horseback approaching."

"Captain Hendricks, tell those Texas Rangers to get their butts out here!" Trivette yelled. "We're going to need back-up. Observe but do not approach. Repeat: **observe but do not approach**until I arrive on scene and the Rangers are in place. We need to take these guys out as quickly as possible before they hurt anyone else."

"Wilco, Ranger Trivette. I'll get everyone in position and we'll meet you. There's a drop point out of line of sight of the suspects about one half mile down the road. Hendricks out."

Sangre de Christo Foothills, New Mexico 204 headed towards US 64 – a little earlier

"No," said Kathy thoughtfully, "that's not the state highway, but it _is_ the state road connecting to it." She laughed. "'State road' is actually a rather generous designation; it's really little more than a gravel pathway through a narrow valley leading to the ranches up there." Kathy carefully avoided referring to her own home; she knew if she gave herself time to think about it, she would break down. _Time enough to grieve later and I _will_ rebuild it when this is all over._ She nearly cheered when, twenty minutes later, the dirt track became gravel and then the gravel ended in a two lane road. "Does any of this look familiar?" Kathy asked Walker.

Walker struggled to focus on his surroundings and studied the blank, featureless white landscape for quite a while. The late afternoon sunlight, where it struck the snow, bounced painfully back into his sensitive eyes. Nothing looked familiar. "I…I just don't remember," he told her. "No point in looking for tracks, either. The wind will have scoured them away by now." He slumped against her and shut his eyes.

"You just rest yourself, Ranger Walker, and hold on a little longer," Kathy murmured. "The town of Cimarron is close by. There will be help there."

"Comanche's awful tired," he protested. The big stallion's head hung low and Walker could feel the heaving of the animal's ribs. "We've been riding most of the day."

"He'll get us there," Kathy assured him. "Comanche would carry us all the way back to Texas if he had to!" She turned the horse to the southwest and nudged him into a fast walk. Partially to save the horse's feet and out of a lingering sense of caution, they rode along the shoulder of the road where the cottonwoods and piñon pines partially covered traces of their passage.

An hour later, Kathy found Walker's Ram. "How on earth did you manage _that_?" she asked, staring. The pick-up truck had apparently drifted off the road and across a fallow field before coming to rest against an ancient cottonwood. Though it appeared otherwise undamaged, the nose of the vehicle had actually run _up_ the trunk of the tree and its front wheels were no longer touching the ground. Looking like an artist's parody of a human handstand, it balanced precariously in that position.

"I…I don't know," Walker responded, honestly puzzled, "How did I drive the dadgummed thing up the tree?"

"How about getting it _out_ of the tree?" Kathy wondered. "It can't be driven and Comanche won't tolerate a harness. Well, let's at least take a look at it. Even if we can't get it out of the tree, I can probably crawl into the cab and use the radio, if it still works." She was about to lead Comanche up onto the hardtop when Walker held up his hand, listening.

"Pull him up under the trees and hold him still. Don't make a sound," Walker told her. "Something isn't right."

Kathy trusted the Ranger's instincts enough by now to do as he asked without questioning him. She scouted out a spot off the shoulder, beneath a dense grove of cottonwoods and piñons with thickly canopied branches, and pulled Comanche up underneath them. The dark and white patches on his hide blended with bark, branches, and shadows perfectly. "What's going on, Ranger Walker?"

"I heard a bridle jingling and Comanche perked his ears up. Stay here, I'm going to take a look."

"You'll do no such thing!" Kathy began scolding him, but the Ranger put his finger to her lips.

"Shhh, I'll be right back," he promised and, kissing her on the forehead, dismounted.

"That man!" she muttered, a look of consternation on her face as she watched him melt into the shadows. "He's going to kill himself if he keeps doing boneheaded things like this. He belongs in a hospital, not crawling around in snow drifts spying on dangerous criminals."

"Unfortunately we don't have much choice." Walker reappeared at her elbow as suddenly as he had left. Startled, Kathy bit back a scream and nearly fell off Comanche's back. Walker caught her before she hit the ground and gently set her on her feet beside the horse.

"You frightened me right out of the saddle!" Kathy whispered furiously at him and glared. "Don't sneak up on a body like that; can't you make noise like a normal person?"

Walker smothered a chuckle. "Alex said the same thing last time I startled _her_. When we get back to Dallas, I'll be sure to introduce you two. I know you'll get along just fine." Just as suddenly as it had come, the merriment left his eyes and he once more hid himself behind the impassive mask of a lawman. "Wilson and his men are waiting for us and they've still got John Quail with them. I'm going to see if I can get him back."

"Walker," she protested, "you can't take on all those men by yourself! You said yourself you'd have to wait for back-up."

He grinned unrepentantly, like a boy with his hands caught in the cookie jar. "I did say that…and they're here. I also saw a chopper circling the area; it has the DPS seal on its side. That can only mean Trivette figured out something was wrong when I didn't call in and came up to check things out. He'll have local law enforcement with him as well. Kathy…" He looked into her eyes, brushed the lank brown-red hair back from her face, needing her cooperation and needing her to understand the reason for what he was about to ask her to do. "I'm going to ask something very difficult of you and I want you to promise you'll do it."

She met his earnest gaze with the same intensity, saw a myriad of emotions darkening those keen blue eyes: doubt, protectiveness, duty, and a desire to spare her feelings. "You're going to ask me to stay behind." A tear slid down her cheek. "I can't leave you alone like this! I won't."

"Kathy, you've been a good citizen and you've done your duty. You don't have to prove yourself to me or anyone else. I _know_ you'd be willing to fight these guys, but it's not your job. It's mine and it's time for you to step back and let me do it. I want you safe; I'll work better knowing you're out of the line of fire. Promise me you'll do what I ask of you, okay?"

"All right, Ranger Walker," she sniffled. "What do you want me to do?"

He took off his badge and his black Stetson before he handed them to her. "Keep these safe for me. I'll be taking the saddle gun; you take this." He put his sidearm into her hand. "You shouldn't have to use it, but I know you can. I'm going to try to get behind Wilson and his men; you stay here out of sight until the Rangers get here. When they do, I want you to get up on Comanche and go to them. Find Trivette, give him the badge. He'll know what to do." Walker kissed her on the cheek. "I've got to go now. God speed."

"May the Great Spirit protect us both," Kathy responded. She stood, every nerve in her body singing with tension, and absently stroked Comanche's nose while she tried to monitor Walker's progress. She was a good tracker but, she had to admit, Walker was far better at stealth. Kathy never saw him cross the highway; her eyes caught a slight movement of the barbed wire separating the field from the road as he went underneath it. When next she saw the Ranger, he was on an outcropping of rock overlooking the ambush point.

Walker, meanwhile, had found a vantage point on higher ground which allowed him to better assess the odds. He had positioned himself so that John Quail could see him clearly but the men guarding him had their backs to him. Walker knew John could read lips and interpret signs well enough; he flashed the young man a hand signal indicating that when Walker dropped down on the two guards, the big Navajo was to put up a fight. He thought he saw John nod and hoped that the boy had understood him clearly. _If I've misjudged his involvement in this, there's going to be hell to pay._ He knew he couldn't possibly take on all of these men, not in his current debilitated condition.

Comanche heard the approach of the police cars and the helicopter before Kathy did. His ears perked up and he pawed the ground and made nervous little grunting noises. The last of the light had gone and the moon was not yet up, leaving her in inky blackness. She put a hand over his nose to keep him from nickering and watched as the flashing blue-red-white in the darkness drew closer, stopping at a distance and forming a barrier. She heard guns cocking on both sides. "Great," Kathy muttered, "a New Mexican stand-off. That's _all _I need." _How will I know which ones are the Rangers? I can't see a thing in the darkness! Coyote help me, I can't even tell which side is which any longer. _ "I hope they don't shoot first and ask questions later."

The helicopter made a pass over the area once before coming to a rest several hundred feet behind the vehicles being used to form a roadblock. John's mare, not liking the spinning of the blades, let loose an ear piercing shriek of fear. Comanche, hearing the mare's scream, shied and tried to break free. Kathy, with one foot in the stirrup, barely made it back into the saddle before he took off…in the wrong direction. Nothing she did would persuade the determined stallion from plunging toward the ambush site; he wanted to be reunited with his mare. "Walker's going to have both our hides," she fretted.

When the mare shied and began bucking and plunging in an attempt to get away from the noise caused by the rotors, she frightened the other horses. Wilson's men had their hands full trying to detain the frightened animals. "Get those damned horses back under control!" Wilson commanded. "They'll blow our cover."

Walker used the confusion to his advantage and chose that moment to drop down on the backs of the two men guarding John Quail. He knocked each of them sprawling and sent their guns spinning off into the darkness. With a quick nod at John, Walker closed the distance between himself and the nearer of the two. The man clubbed Walker in the side of the head with his fist and then managed to get both hands around the Ranger's throat. Walker discovered he didn't really have enough strength to break the hold; he brought his legs up underneath him and attempted to kick his opponent loose. While Walker struggled for his life, John Quail waded into the fracas with swinging fists. The years of being abused, starved, and terrorized by Wilson transformed into a blind rage. He threw blows indiscriminately and without care for serious injury. He had his opponent, who was no longer moving, pinned to the ground and was still pummeling the man.

"John!" Walker called out. "John, don't kill anyone! It's not worth it." The Ranger had managed to break his own opponent's hold on his throat and had the man locked in a painful wrestling hold with his arm pulled up behind his back. The thug used the moment's distraction to gain leverage and throw Walker from him. Winded and dazed, Walker could only lay there panting as the guy came back at him with a knife.

Kathy saw the man pull the knife and surmised Walker had reached the end of his endurance; he would not be able to roll out of the way in time. "I'm not going to let you kill the Ranger!" she yelled, fumbling with Walker's sidearm. It was larger and heavier than her revolver; she prayed she would be able to aim it properly.

From their position in the roadblock, Trivette, Auguston, and LaFayette watched this tableau. The dapper little DEA agent, livid and practically dancing with indignation, shouted, "Anyone with eyes can see that Walker was in on this the whole time! They're obviously arguing over the particulars of the deal. Why aren't you moving in on them?"

"We don't know that," Trivette said tersely. "I don't want to risk hitting either Walker or that civilian with him."

"Are you blind?" LaFayette harangued him. "The girl with him is obviously related to the prisoner; even I can see the family resemblance and those Indians all look a like to me! Take them out!"

"Not until we know what we're dealing with," Trivette said firmly. "Look…Hendricks is going to make another pass, get a spotlight on the ambush point. When he gives us the go-ahead we'll go in…not before."

"Gun!" Auguston announced. "The one on horseback has a gun. It looks as though it might be Walker's." He pulled his own service revolver from its holster, braced it against the door of the Blazer, and cocked it.

"Take the shot, boy," LaFayette ordered. "If you value that Ranger's life, you'd better just take the shot."

Auguston sighted his revolver…and faltered. "It's just a kid, Trivette! What do I do? We don't even know whether she's part of this…."

"Hold your fire, David," Trivette said, his voice steady.

"I said, _take the shot_!" LaFayette commanded. Auguston ignored him this time but the strain showed in the young Ranger's face. In spite of the cold, a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

_No. This can't be happening again. What am I supposed to do? If I make the wrong decision, Walker will die out there but if she's got nothing to do with this mess I'd be hurting an innocent kid. _"No," said Auguston, his voice shaking. "I don't take orders from you. If any shooting needs to be done, Trivette will let me know about it."

"Then I'll take the shot myself! Gimme that, boy, you're a disgrace to your badge…" Trivette had taken LaFayette's gun for safekeeping after he had tired of warning the DEA agent for the umpteenth time about controlling his edginess. Incensed, LaFayette grabbed for Auguston's revolver.

"Leave it be!" Auguston said angrily. "It's old and it's got a hair trigger…." LaFayette made another grab for the revolver, and the hammer came down on the firing pin. The revolver discharged with a roar that splintered the night.

"Shots fired!" Hendricks' voice came over the radio. "I can't tell from where. Commence defensive action!"

All hell broke loose.


	18. In This Crossfire

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 18 – In This Crossfire**

"_You'll take your chances, Mr. Policeman (policeman)_

_You're like a cat with thirteen lives (cat with thirteen lives)_

_Your law and order is our lifeline (lifeline)_

_Through the danger, you'll survive_

_I do what I need to stay alive_"

**----- "**In Self-Defense" performed by Journey

Walker's sidearm was heavier than Kathy had anticipated and balanced for a stronger male hand. She got off one shakily aimed shot, which missed the thug coming after Walker but did knock the knife out of his hand. The recoil bounced the gun backwards and knocked the butt of it against her chin. Kathy saw stars and, unbalanced, scrabbled frantically at the saddle horn in order to keep her seat. _That hurts! Mustn't drop the gun. Might be useful later, gotta get it back to Ranger Walker somehow…_ She knew she wouldn't be able to fire it again. _I wish John hadn't taken my revolver._

Shots kicked up puffs of dust from the frozen ground all around her. Comanche shied again and darted to one side. Someone off to one side and behind her yelled out, "Halt, Texas Rangers!"

_No. Even if I could control the horse, I can't stop now. Walker's only chance is for us to get between him and the rest of these morons until they stop shooting. I've _got_ to make sure he gets his firearm back._ She dug her heels into Comanche's sides, bent low over his head, and whispered in Navajo, "Good horse. Go, boy! I'm counting on you to find Walker."

Large caliber rounds sailed inches above her head in the direction in which she'd last seen the police officers' vehicles. Kathy heard a familiar report, off to her right, echoing from the sides of the valley. _That's the saddle gun, but who's got it? Walker was on the ground when I last saw him. Where is he now?_

The sound of helicopter blades directly overhead drowned out all else. Comanche neighed in fright, shied until he was almost perpendicular to the ground, and danced sideways. The helicopter's spotlight drowned the area in blinding white light, catching in stark relief the powerful bucking stallion and Walker still engaged in a life-or-death struggle on the ground with a single opponent.

"Drop your weapon! Dismount and get on the ground with your hands behind your head," came the directive over the bullhorn.

Kathy had her hands full trying to calm the frightened animal. _At least I can holster the damned gun, give these guys one less thing to worry about. Please, let them see I'm not a threat!_

"She's reaching for her weapon!" The voice, high and nasal, was the one she'd heard earlier declaring that Walker had hooked up with Wilson and his men. She didn't like that voice and she was fairly certain it would be attached to an unpleasant little person. Suddenly, a man appeared a few feet in front of her. Kathy found herself staring down the barrel of a large antique six shooter, held by a man in a rumpled but expensive looking suit. "Missy, get down off that horse or I'm going to put a hole in you."

Comanche reared. Kathy jerked back frantically on the reins. "Tell the helicopter to back off! I can't dismount until the horse is under control and he doesn't like the noise! You've already spooked him."

The look on LaFayette's face was that of an avenging angel as he cocked the gun. "You're stalling to give Walker time to get away. Get down. I'm not going to tell you again."

"LaFayette, lay off!" This directive came from a worried looking young man with a shock of carroty hair who had run to catch up with the man holding the gun. _He, at least, has the good sense to steer clear of a rearing horse_, Kathy thought and spared a moment of desperate gratitude for his thoughtfulness. "Let her get control of the animal first and then we can question her." The current of air created by the helicopter blew back the lapel on the young man's jacket. In the spotlight sparkled a particular badge, twin to the one Walker had pressed into Kathy's hand. _Texas Ranger! Walker said it would be okay to approach his people._

"Ranger!" she called. "I have to speak with you. Walker told me ---"

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and several things happened at once. Comanche, misinterpreting the sudden tension in his rider's stance as a command to proceed, pranced forward. LaFayette pulled the trigger and fired. The shot slammed in to Kathy's right thigh and knocked her out of the saddle. Walker, who had finally put his opponent down with a sleeper hold, hollered, "No, hold your fire! Hold your fire, damn you!" as Auguston darted forward to intercept the next round. He jerked forward and fell across Kathy, protecting her with his own body, as a hail of bullets rained down upon them.

Trivette, pinned behind the Blazer, grabbed for his own firearm in an attempt to cover both Auguston and Walker. His hand encountered nothing. "I'm gonna give the Captain a big piece of my mind if we get out of this in one piece," he muttered. "Sending me out without a firearm…jeez!" Crawling on his belly through the snow and gravel, he gained the safety of the interior of the vehicle. "Captain Hendricks, I've got a man down out there. Pull yours back and tell 'em to hold their fire so we can find out who's shooting who." _I would suppose it's too much to hope that one of the thugs happened to nail LaFayette_, Trivette thought with uncharacteristic viciousness. _If he'd done what he was told, Auguston wouldn't have _had_ to put himself in danger._ To the Rangers of Company B, Trivette hollered, "Hold your fire, guys, until I tell you otherwise!"

"Copy that, Ranger Trivette," Hendricks responded. "I've issued the cease fire. We're putting down and coming in to assess the damage. That DEA weasel has _a lot_ to answer for."

Trivette slumped against the upholstery and scrubbed wearily at his face. "Just great," he growled. "IAB is gonna _love_ getting this report."

A hand the size of a small ham closed on his shoulder. "C'mon, young feller," Hendricks said, not unkindly. "Let's see to your man and round up the prisoners."

Walker stood up slowly and looked around. The youngster who had had the good sense to put himself in front of the DEA agent's unwarranted attack --- Walker seemed to remember that the young man was newly assigned to Company B --- in order to protect Kathy and Comanche didn't seem to be seriously hurt. He lifted himself carefully away from her and seemed to be trying to assess the girl's injuries. Every time he got close, however, the stallion and his mare stood protectively over their mistress. Walker didn't think any less of the young man for not wanting to brave the stallion's devastating bite. Kathy hadn't moved from where she had fallen. That worried Walker; he knew if she were able to do so, she'd be up and checking on her beloved horses.

"Ranger Cordell Walker," he introduced himself and giving the younger Ranger a hand up off the ground. "What's your name, son?"

"David Auguston, newly assigned to Company B," he replied, shaking hands. "You knew Boyd Hochreiter, my former partner. He's the one who brought me into the Rangers and you're the one who trained him. We sure are glad to see you, sir!"

_Greener than Trivette,_ Walker thought, irritated and amused. _I hate being called 'sir'._ "Take it easy, son," he said. "You took a hit to the shoulder. It looks like that collar bone is broken."

"I'll do," Auguston responded, dismissing the injury bravely. "Trivette'll be up shortly. What needs done before he gets here?"

"Get cuffs on those four and make sure nobody dies so we can question 'em. Leave the big Navajo alone, he's with me. I'm going to see to the girl."

"Yes, sir, I'll get right on it." Discretely cradling his arm against his chest, Auguston took out his cuffs with the other hand and began the business of securing the prisoners.

Comanche eyed the senior Ranger warily as he approached. "Easy boy, I'm not going to hurt her. Let me get a look at her, all right?" With a warning snort, the big horse stepped aside. Walker knelt beside Kathy and gently gathered her up in his arms. "Kathy…Kathy sweetie, can you hear me?"

"Ranger Walker…" The pain soaked whisper barely reached his ears, but it was there. "Walker…my horses….did they hit the horses? Need…to see…" Kathy lifted her head from Walker's lap and tried to sit up but he wouldn't let her.

The Ranger's eyes filled with tears. _Shot to hell by the men who should have been protecting her and she's worried about her animals! _Walker reached back and located by touch the ends of Comanche's bridle. He tugged on it in an effort to bring the horse into Kathy's field of vision so she could see the animal was indeed unhurt; Comanche didn't resist for once and stood quietly nuzzling Walker's shoulder and trying to get his muzzle down to Kathy's face. "No, you just lay still, honey. Comanche's right here. Not a scratch on him and the mare's right beside him."

That seemed to ease some of the girl's anxiety. Kathy huddled against him, holding tight to one of his hands. "Walker," she whispered, and her voice trembled, "it's getting cold and I can't breathe very well any more."

_She's going into shock. Where the hell is Trivette?_ He whipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her as he used his body to block the chilling wind which had sprung up. The snow beneath her body was rapidly turning crimson. "There's a lot of blood," he muttered. The shoulder wound had re-opened when she fell from the saddle but the amount of blood loss couldn't be accounted for with such a minor wound. With his senses dulled by illness, it hadn't occurred to him until now that she'd taken more shots.

"Get someone with a first aid kit down here!" he yelled, not caring who followed those orders as long as it got done.

"Walker," Kathy whimpered, "It hurts."

"Shh, shhh," he answered, cradling her against him. "I know it does but you'll be all right. Just hold on for me, Kathy, hold on. Help is coming, but you've got to hold on….please."

Kathy's eyes were growing heavy. It was an effort to hold them open and words came in painful panting gasps. She sensed, however, that the Ranger needed to hear her talk. "Walker…did we get to you in time? I couldn't…aim…your gun. Too heavy for me."

"Courageous girl!" Walker murmured, brushing his lips against the crown of her head. "I'm fine. You knocked the knife out of his hand and he's in custody. He'll be going away for a long time."

"Please, Walker…don't leave me alone. I'm so tired," she sighed and, closing her eyes, went limp in his arms. All color had drained from her face; the dark thick lashes stood out on her pale cheeks.

Walker wiped a thin line of blood away from her mouth. "Then rest, sweetheart," he whispered to her. "I'll stay right here beside you."

"Ranger Walker! Ranger Walker, how is she?" The halting baritone, speaking badly inflected English, belonged to John Quail. He had come silently up behind them and, seeing the Ranger rocking his cousin back and forth in his arms, knew the situation was serious. He walked over to the horses, talking soothingly, and grabbed the old quilts they'd been using as bed rolls. He draped them around the shoulders of the shivering Ranger and knelt beside them.

"It's bad, John," Walker replied. "She…she stopped the bullets with her own body. I don't know how many rounds she took." His facial expression went hard and cold. "When I find out who shot her…"

John Quail was tearing off lengths of flannel from his shirt to use as bandages. "We gotta get this blood stopped," he muttered, tying them around the shattered femur.

"That's it," Walker encouraged, "keep pressure on it. What's keeping my people?" he demanded irritably.

"They'll be a while," came a new voice in the darkness. "I sent them on a bit of a wild goose chase so I could deal with you personally, Ranger Walker, and that moon faced moron you've been spending so much time with. I have a score to settle."

"LaFayette!" Walker snapped. "This is neither the time nor the place for petty bickering. The girl needs medical attention soon or she's going to die."

"That's on your conscience, Walker," LaFayette responded. "Everything would have been much simpler if you'd followed orders but you _had_ to insist on special accommodations for our friend there."

"You shot an innocent kid at point blank range!" Walker exclaimed angrily. "You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, but I did," LaFayette responded. "You see, she's both a witness and evidence. My orders are to leave no witnesses. That will unfortunately have to include you now."

"Not if I can help it, it won't. Freeze, Texas Rangers!"

As LaFayette aimed the gun at Walker, a roundhouse kick from behind and to the side knocked it completely out of the DEA agent's hands. He whirled around to face his attacker and practically walked into a series of jabs dealt by Trivette's fists. Initially caught off guard, LaFayette recovered and closed the distance between himself and Trivette. He landed a powerful right hook which rocked Trivette backwards and knocked his hat from his head. Trivette shook his head to clear it, backed up, and hit the DEA agent with a crescent kick. LaFayette's hands were knocked aside and Trivette closed with him and delivered an uppercut which sent the DEA agent sprawling to the ground. Trivette didn't allow him time to recover; instead, he pinned the agent to the ground, flipped LaFayette over, and snapped the cuffs on him. "You have the right to remain---"

"It's your word against mine, boy," LaFayette said. "You won't be able to make any of this---"

"Silent!" finished Trivette with a grunt and shut the agent's mouth with a final punch.

Walker's eyes were murderous. "Get him out of here before I shoot him myself," he ordered. "Scum like that shouldn't even be allowed to breathe the same air as decent people."

Trivette dusted off his hat and put it back on his head. "All right, partner," he placated, "I'll call one of Hendricks' deputies over to take care of this." He gestured to one of them, gave the man a quick set of instructions regarding the prisoner, and strode to Walker's side. The older Ranger shivered violently and his eyes were no longer focusing. "You all right?" Trivette asked, placing a steadying hand on his partner's shoulder. He could feel the heat of the fever. "No, you're not. You look like hell, man."

"Well thanks, Trivette," Walker said with a trace of his usual asperity. "I feel like it," he admitted honestly and stifled a cough. "What's taking the others so long?"

"Captain Hendricks brought a medical team but they're taking a look at Auguston right now. He took a pretty rough round to the shoulder and his collar bone. We found him unconscious…after he'd rounded up the ones you knocked out. How's the kid doing?"

"She's a fighter," Walker said softly, stroking Kathy's hair. He still held her securely in his arms, willing her through his own nearly depleted strength to stay with them. His world had narrowed to the girl in his arms and the precarious moments between one breath and the next. Trivette thought Walker had forgotten him entirely when the older Ranger finally responded, "She's bad hurt, Trivette. I don't know if fighting is enough."

"Ranger Walker," John Quail said, intensity giving his words an extra edge, "she _has_ to survive. You can't let her die because she's all I've got left!"

"What…what do you mean?" Walker asked, confused. "Kathy mentioned having an aunt and uncle, at least…."

"Had," John Quail corrected, sorrow choking off his voice. "Wilson told me…he told me they were all dead. Poison in the well, like last time. Belmonte's orders."

"I'm sorry," Trivette confirmed, "but it's true, Walker. Auguston and I helped process the site ourselves."

"She'll be alone then," John Quail realized. "Ranger Walker, you've got to keep your promise to her."

"I'll do what I can," Walker promised again. "Somehow we'll find a way to make the courts see it our way."

Kathy stirred in his arms. A slow, dreamy smile transformed her face. "Ranger Walker…I'm going to hold you to that." Her eyes closed and she gave a small sigh. The three of them waited anxiously as one second, two, three slipped by…and she did not take another breath.

"Gone into arrest," realized Trivette. "Hey, Hendricks!" he hollered. "Get that medic of yours over here, the kid's quit breathing!"

Walker's professional training took over, holding the mental fatigue and physical illness at bay a while longer. He needed to be able to think and act if he was going to save Kathy's life. He laid her out on the ground in front of him and said to John, "You know mouth-to-mouth?" The big Navajo nodded. "All right then, you breathe for her while I keep her heart going." John Quail tilted his cousin's head back to extend the airway, checked to make certain it was unobstructed and then gave two quick rescue breaths. When those measures failed to restore breathing, he began artificial respiration. Walker began chest compressions. Trivette monitored for an independent pulse.

"Walker." He ignored the voice at first as unimportant. For now nothing mattered beyond the next beat and the next breath. "Walker," called Trivette's voice again, as though from a great distance, "you can stop CPR. You've got her heart started again. Pulse is weak and thready, but it's there. The medic's here, let her take over."

"She's still not breathing," Walker muttered brokenly. "I can't let her go, Trivette! She's got to survive!"

"All right," said Trivette quietly, trying to lead his partner away. "You've done everything you can, Walker. Let the medic take over now so we can get you both to a hospital."

"I'm staying with her," he insisted stubbornly. "I promised. She doesn't like being alone…"

"We have a problem," Trivette explained to Captain Hendricks as he and the medic approached. "My partner's sick himself. He needs treatment but he won't let go of her or let anyone near her…"

"Stubborn son-of-a…." Hendricks said, but without venom.

"Yeah," said Trivette wryly, "people tend to say that about him."

Hendricks seemed to be having trouble with his eyes. He mopped at them surreptitiously with a large red handkerchief and blew his nose. "Damned desert dust gets everywhere."

"Let me talk to him," said the young woman beside Hendricks.

Trivette studied the petite, sturdily built woman whose curly brown hair whipped about her face in untidy tangles. Her professional demeanor belied the youthfulness of her smooth, round face. She wore a dark jacket with a small medical patch on one shoulder and the Cimarron County sheriff's department patch on the other. "And you are---?"

"Amie Medicine Stone," she said, putting forth a blunt fingered, calloused hand. "I'm the paramedic assigned to the sheriff's office in Clayton."

"Walker doesn't like doctors," Trivette said dubiously, "I'm not sure what you---"

"He'll listen to me," Amie said confidently, "because I understand law enforcement and stubborn men. That one," she said, gesturing to Captain Hendricks, "is my daddy!" Leaving Trivette to stare at her, mouth agape, she strode over to Walker and the big Navajo.

"How's she doing, Ranger Walker?" Amie asked in a calm neutral tone, squatting beside him.

"She took a few shots, I'm not sure how many or where," he responded. "The shoulder's a through-and-through. She got that earlier. That shot to the thigh, though…" Walker stifled another cough.

"We'll get you more comfortable and take care of that cough in a moment," Amie said compassionately. "Will you let me take a look at the girl?" Walker nodded but would not let go of Kathy's hand. "That's all right, Ranger Walker. You can hold her hand, that will help reassure her."

Amie took out a pair of surgical gloves from her bag, put them on, and began assessing her patient. The wound in the shoulder was at least a day old and had been rudely but expertly dressed. The bullet had entered high, just above the collar bone, and exited cleanly without hitting anything vital. _Not the cause of the shock, then._ The wound would need packed and stitched but it could wait. _I don't see any…ah, that might explain it._ She could find no exit for the bullet which had shattered the girl's right femur. _If that went up into the chest cavity or down into the abdomen…_

"Stop what you're doing for a moment," she instructed John. "Let's see if she can breathe on her own at all. No, it won't harm her," Amie added as both men started to protest, "not for such a short period of time." She pulled out her stethoscope, put it to Kathy's chest and listened. _No breath sounds at all from the right lobe and the left one isn't inflating fully._ "She _can_ breathe on her own," she reassured the two men, "but she'd probably be more comfortable if we help her out a little bit." Carefully but quickly, Amie took out a portable oxygen tank, slipped a non-rebreathing mask over Kathy's face, and adjusted the flow. She watched with satisfaction as the patient's color improved and breathing became marginally deeper. _That ought to stabilize her enough for transport. I can start an IV of fluids to combat the blood loss later._

"Hey," she called to one of the deputies, "get the stretcher down here and get her into the ambulance. We'll be transporting directly to Taos, it's closest. Phone ahead and tell 'em to have the bird on the pad ASAP. She's going to need a trauma center. Now, Ranger," Amie said firmly, turning her attention to Walker, "I've taken care of her and you _will_ allow me to take a look at you. Because" and she folded her arms across her chest, matching stubbornness for stubbornness "you can't go with her until you let me do that."

"All right," Walker agreed reluctantly, "but I need to talk to my partner first."

"I know," Amie said, rolling her eyes in the direction of Captain Hendricks, "duty comes first and foremost. Make it quick."

"I'm here, Walker," Trivette said quietly. "What do you want me to do, buddy?"

"We bit off more than we can chew in the Kiowa National Grasslands bust," Walker told him. "There's human trafficking involved. Dig up what you can on a place in Dallas called the Cottonwood facility and any connection it may have with Belmonte Industries." Out of breath and coughing, it was a moment before he could continue. "Make sure John Quail gets back to Dallas. Put him in protective custody and keep him out of the general population. He's the key to prosecuting this case. His English isn't very good, Trivette, but he's not stupid. Kathy…Kathy could read that sign language he uses, but I doubt anyone else can. Have Alex teach him some basic standard sign so he doesn't feel so isolated. Dang it, Jimmy, I don't know when I've been so tired."

Walker had never used Trivette's first name before. _And I have never heard the man admit any kind of physical weakness. He must really feel awful. _Trivette's face twisted in concern for his partner. "I'll take care of it, Walker," he said, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "You just do what it takes to get better. Don't let him pull any of his tricks on you," he cautioned Amie. "I told that you he dislikes doctors and hospitals."

"I don't think I'll have any problems with him now," Amie assured him. "He's taken care of his ward and he's done his duty so he has no further excuse to fight me. I'll tell him so."

"All right. I need to make a few calls and then I'll meet you at the hospital."

Amie disposed of the first set of gloves and exchanged them for a clean pair from her kit. "Let's see what you've got going on here," she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. She examined Walker quickly and efficiently, taking mental notes as she followed assessment protocol. _Raging fever, probably been sick for a couple of days._ _He's badly dehydrated. _ "That's a proper job you've done scraping the skin off your hands," she commented, "but it looks like someone cleaned them up well enough. They ought to heal just fine. What have you got there, a Mustang Talker fetish?"

"It's Kathy's," Walker responded. "She gave it to me, seemed to feel I might need it."

"I see," breathed Amie as the significance of the gift dawned on her, "that's not just any carving, that's _the_ Mustang Talker fetish." _If she felt the need to give that to him, these people are in serious trouble and they're going to need all the help they can get._ "Don't worry about a thing, Ranger. Her people will see to it that she gets everything she needs until you can Speak for her. We take care of our own."

"You…you're Navajo?"

"Half Navajo," Amie corrected. "My daddy's American but he married my mother and she was of the Medicine Stone clan."

"I have something else I need to take care of," he replied. "Hendricks?" _Kathy would never forgive me if I didn't see to the horses._ "The horses ---"

"Don't worry yourself about them, Walker," Captain Hendricks reassured him. "I'll put them up in the department's stables until you can come back for them. As my daughter said, people in these parts know the value of a Mustang Talker"

"Walker," Amie added persuasively, "you've done your duty. You don't have to be responsible for everything personally. Let us get you feeling better so that you can look after _her_. She'll need you."

"She's been through a lot," Walker said but got no further because an intense fit of coughing overtook him.

"I'm going to listen to your lungs now, just breathe easy." Walker cringed and shivered when the stethoscope touched his bare skin. _Much as I'd suspected, his lungs are full of fluid._ "You probably have pneumonia," she told him and extended her arm. "Come on, Ranger Walker, let's get you out of here so I can make you more comfortable."

"I don't need your help, I can make it." Stubborn pride reasserted itself and gave him the impetus he needed to bat the paramedic's hands away. His body didn't want to cooperate; he swayed dizzily, his vision reduced to sparkling flashes, while the world buckled crazily around him. He _had _to keep it together, for Kathy's sake, until he was certain the girl had been properly cared for. The rising tide of nausea caused him to swallow convulsively. Through sheer willpower, Walker repressed the urge to vomit and kept walking in the direction Amie had indicated. Suddenly, an excruciating pain in his stomach doubled him over wretching. He staggered and would have fallen if Hendricks hadn't sprinted forward and caught him.

"Easy there, Walker," Hendricks said. "Amie honey, can't you do anything more for him?" He looked at his daughter reproachfully, informing her with a glance that he considered her derelict in her duties.

"He didn't mention these symptoms, Dad," she said, irritated, but concern for her patient overrode the urge to engage her father in a debate. "Walker, Walker, take it easy," Amie soothed him. _Blood…but I can't tell, under these conditions, whether it's because of the coughing or a GI bleed. _"Hang on a moment, I'll get you something for that." She rummaged around in her kit, pulled out a syringe, filled it with a dose of Promethazine, and injected it into Walker's thigh.

"What was that?" Walker asked suspiciously when the heaving had stopped. He felt a lassitude stealing over him and stopped fighting them as the sheriff and his daughter helped him into the ambulance.

"Nothing to be concerned about," Amie assured him. "It's just a medication to stop the nausea so you'll be more comfortable. Ready to go now?"

Walker closed his eyes, relieved of all responsibilities for the time being, and relaxed at last. He wanted only to sleep, unworried and undisturbed for once by the dregs of society. "Get us out of here," he said wearily.

Amie patted him sympathetically on the arm. "Let me say goodbye to my father, and your wish is my command." Closing the door behind her, she stepped outside the rig. "Daddy ---"

"You're going with them back to Dallas, aren't you?" Captain Hendricks asked.

She nodded. "Those three" and she included John Quail in her assessment "will need a Speaker. It'll be better for all concerned if there's already a representative of the Diné present, someone to look after their best interests and make certain tribal preferences are respected."

"You're a big girl now," Hendricks replied. "I didn't live twenty years with your mama without learning you Navajo folk will do what you must. Just…" he twisted the brim of his hat through his hands nervously. "Be careful. These are some pretty rough _banditos_ Walker's gotten himself mixed up with this time. No telling how far the fall-out might extend. I'd rather you not get caught up in it."

Amie laughed. "I'm a paramedic, daddy, not a cop. No one's going to mess with me."

"Best git goin', girl," Hendricks said gruffly, ruffling her hair. "I've horses to corral and prisoners to put in lock-up."

She blew him a kiss as she got into the ambulance. "I'll be in touch!" she called.


	19. Nothing Left

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 19 – Nothing Left**

**Author's note: **Taos, New Mexico as it stands today _does _have a hospital facility capable of treating the types of injuries and illnesses suffered by the characters. However, the expansion of the facility did not take place until 2004, well outside the timeline of this story. During the time that Walker, Kathy, and Auguston would have been there, Holy Cross Hospital was a minor acute care facility and incapable of handling severe trauma. For story purposes, they're being taken back to Dallas. In reality the nearest level one trauma center is in Albuquerque. The rehydration solution was obtained from the World Health Organization. It was specifically developed for situations where IV treatment is either unobtainable or unable to be initiated.

"_Restless little one_

_Comfortable and warm_

_Let me fall apart_

_Crippled in your arms_"

**-----** "Over And Out" performed by Foo Fighters

En Route to Holy Cross Hospital in Taos New, Mexico

The ambulance ride into Taos, New Mexico seemed to take forever. Since Auguston remained unconscious, Hendricks had requested they take him in with them as well. The young Ranger had regained his wits as Amie Medicine Stone was repacking the wound and immobilizing the broken collar bone.

Auguston groaned and opened his eyes. He could place neither the bright metallic white paint nor the glaring incandescent lights above his head but the antiseptic scent reminded him of a hospital. He cast back through his memories; they were jumbled, overlaid with earlier memories of the shoot-out which had gotten Boyd Hochreiter killed. _It must have been a similar situation, then_. Disregarding for the moment the pain it caused, he took a deep breath and tried to focus on the most recent memories. _He'd been jumped by that weasel of a DEA agent and they had struggled for control of his weapon. LaFayette had it pointed at the young Navajo girl on the horse. The gun had gone off, he'd dived in front of it, and_….blackness. He couldn't remember anything else.

"What…" His mouth was too dry to allow him to speak. Auguston would have tried to get up but a small brown hand gently pushed him back down onto the stretcher.

"Don't try to talk just yet," Amie said to him. Addressing someone he couldn't see, she said, "Evan, open up that IV line, would you? He's coming out of shock and he's bone dry. I can't give you anything to drink," she apologized, "but I can moisten your lips. Is that better?"

He licked his cracked lips and tried again to speak. This time, he found the words came easier. "Thank you. Where am I?"

"You're in an ambulance en route to the clinic at Taos," she explained. "The doctor there will get you patched up and then you'll be airlifted back to Dallas."

"How bad was I hit?"

Amie's voice turned clinical. "It's a large caliber bullet from some sort of handgun ---"

"I know, it's from my own weapon," Auguston interrupted, "a .45 Colt Peacemaker. The guy got the jump on me and it went off."

"Then you know what kind of damage a hit like that does. You've got a sizable hole in your upper shoulder and you've lost a lot of blood. No exit wound so I must assume the projectile fragments are still in there with the bone fragments."

"I need to know about the girl." He _thought_ he remembered catching the bullet which had been aimed at her but he couldn't be certain. Auguston struggled again to sit upright. The pain almost knocked him out. He heard Amie saying, "For heaven's sake, Evan, if he's going to insist on sitting up, help him do it before he does more damage!"

The youngster's voice carried to him, "Hold on a minute, Ranger, and I'll help you sit up." Strong but gentle arms assisted him into a sitting position. Auguston found himself being stared at anxiously by a freckle faced kid. Auguston stared back and the kid gulped. "Sorry. I'm –ah- I'm supposed to be monitoring your vitals." He turned to Amie and said, "His breathing is much better."

"Cut the O2 back and leave it there," Amie instructed. She patted Auguston on the hand which didn't have an IV in it. "You seem to be stable for now. Nothing life threatening, but I'd like you to remain as still as possible so that the bone fragments don't lacerate any lung tissue."

"The girl…how's she doing?" Auguston repeated. He needed to know his actions hadn't been in vain this time. _I couldn't save that boy and it cost me my partner. I hope I made the right decision this time. I'm sorry, Boyd._

"Ranger Walker?" Amie looked questioningly at the older man.

"He risked his life for her," Walker responded drowsily. He still held Kathy's limp hand tightly in his and refused to let go. "He deserves to know. You can tell 'im."

"She's critical," Amie explained softly, "but she's alive."

Auguston turned his face to the wall. "I failed, then. I was trying to protect her."

"You didn't fail," the paramedic insisted. "She has a chance because of you and we'll do everything we can to make sure the odds are with her."

"It was my gun which fired the shot. I lost control of my weapon and the details don't matter. It's my responsibility."

"That's for IAB to decide," said Walker. His mind, no longer completely his own under the influence of the anti-nausea medications, kept replaying those last terrible scenes in which Kathy had been shot from the horse and then had arrested in his arms. An unreasoning animosity was building toward the younger Ranger. It cost him great effort to speak civilly to the boy but he still felt an obligation as a senior officer to reassure him. "Don't worry about it for now, son."

The older Ranger's words seemed to give Auguston some measure of absolution. He leaned back against the side of the ambulance and closed his eyes. "Keep monitoring him and let me know if anything changes, Evan," Amie instructed. She turned her attention to Kathy. _Good, the blood loss is slowing up. I'll hang another bolus of IV fluids and that should keep her stable until we get her to the hospital. Pulse is still rapid and weak, but it's come down a bit. Blood pressure's borderline, I'll have to keep an eye on that._

Walker spared a glance at the younger Ranger, who appeared to be sleeping. "How's she _really_ doing?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not as well as I'd like," Amie admitted. "I haven't been able to stabilize her completely, which means there's still internal bleeding _somewhere_, not just at the injury site. I couldn't even guess where the problem is without at least an x-ray series. She needs a trauma team, but I'm doing all I can to keep her alive until we reach a qualified hospital. Cook," she growled at the driver, "can't you make this bus go any faster?"

"The roads are pretty bad and the snow is still coming down. I can get you there quick or I can get you there safely, deputy," he responded. "Take your pick."

"She's as stable as I can make her without a medical facility," she finished explaining. "Now, Ranger, let's take a closer look at you. Can you tell me anything about what happened out there?"

The nausea medication she'd given him simply wasn't strong enough to ward off the symptoms. Walker spent an uncomfortable moment struggling with himself before he could answer her. His eyes, when he opened them again, were hazy with fever and effort. "Wish I knew," he responded tiredly. "I…I don't remember much except the truck going off the road."

"How long have you been ill?" Amie asked as she checked him over.

"I-I don't remember," Walker repeated, frustrated. He wasn't used to losing track of details. His mind kept circling back to the bust in the Kiowa National Grasslands. "It…It…was a messy bust with a long, cold wait. We…we don't get much snow in Dallas, I wasn't dressed for it."

"Has this ever happened before? The pneumonia doesn't account for all of your symptoms."

He shook his head and then wished he hadn't. Walker couldn't quite suppress a groan as the darkness edged in around his vision. He concentrated, forced it back, and a fragment of memory intruded: _there'd been water a-plenty but they didn't dare drink any of it._ He couldn't connect that thought to his current situation but at least he remembered the context. "In Viet Nam," he explained, "we couldn't drink the water…" The effort to speak exhausted him and, nearly senseless, he slumped back against the gurney.

"Ranger Walker," Amie persisted, trying to bring him back to a coherent state, "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me." She patted him firmly on the cheek. "Ranger Walker, don't go to sleep. You can rest when we get to the hospital but I need you to stay awake."

Kathy, through the bond forged when she had taken him through the Nightways, felt the Ranger slipping away. _The medic _has_ to know what happened or she won't be able to help him. I have to keep him alive somehow._ She gathered what little strength remained to her and fought her way through the fog of shock and blood loss. Her hand curled around his. "You…you can't…leave me, Ranger Walker." Her voice, lacking support, sounded weak and breathy. "You promised."

Walker's hand tightened on Kathy's. "Don't," he said quietly, trying to reassure her. "Save your strength, I'll be fine. Everything will be fine."

"No," she responded, agitated. "Tkoh…_"_ _The water…_

"I can't give you any water, little Mustang Talker," Amie said, misinterpreting her intent.

Kathy tried again in English. Her eyes pleaded with the paramedic for comprehension. "The Ranger --- he came to me that way…it was in the water…"

_She needs to quit this struggling. Her O2 sats are dropping._ "I understand," she told the girl, "and I know how to treat him now. You just relax and take it easy."

A flicker of her usual contrariness surfaced. She smiled wryly and said, "Do I…have a… choice?"

"Not really," Amie responded crisply, "it's my bus so you'll _both_ do as I say. Evan, how's that young Ranger doing?"

"Name's Auguston, ma'am," he responded before the EMT could speak. "I'll do, you just worry about Ranger Walker and the girl. If you don't mind my sayin' so, ma'am, neither looks too good."

_Lawmen! So damned stubborn._ "Evan?" Amie prompted gently, ignoring the Ranger's self assessment.

"Oh…uh…vitals are stable. Temperature, blood pressure, and respiration are all normal. Patient is responsive and oriented, no further bleeding noted from the GSW site."

Amie nodded, satisfied, and focused her ministrations on Walker. _That fever's out of control and he's dehydrated. _The Ranger barely responded to her presence and didn't flinch when she inserted the IV needle, though she'd had difficulty getting the line in and had had to stick him a few times. "You should start feeling a little better soon," she told him though she wasn't certain he could hear her. Amie talked to her patients out of habit because she felt it eased their minds, if they _could_ hear her, to know someone was there with them. She'd just released the clamp on the tubing when he gave a low moan. At the same time, one of Kathy's monitors shrilled a warning. _What the…it's like their lives are somehow connected. That shouldn't be possible. Should it?_ "Cook, what's our ETA?"

"Twenty minutes out from Taos, thirty-five from Holy Cross," he replied.

"Not good enough," Amie muttered. "They're crashing. Evan, get on the horn and tell 'em I need to talk to the attending."

"You need help back there, deputy?" Cook asked. "I can pull 'er over…"

"Just step on it. We'll have to opt for quick over safely this time. The sooner we get there, the better it will be for these two. Evan, do you have that attending for me yet?"

The radio squawked to life. "Union County Rescue, this is Holy Cross base. What have you got for us?"

"This is Union County Rescue, Holy Cross. We're en route and thirty-five minutes out with three patients."

"Copy that," came the crisp reply. "Let's have 'em one at a time, please."

Evan relayed the information Amie had given him. "We have an adult male with respiratory distress, vomiting and abdominal pain on scene. Promethazine given on scene to combat nausea with limited effect. Respirations are 36 and shallow; temperature of 105.6; blood pressure is 80/50 but pulse is 142 and thready. EKG looks good, O2 sat is 90 with oxygen on full. Rales audible in both lungs. IV line is in and wide open. He's started seizing, Holy Cross. Please advise."

A new voice answered. "Dr. Donald Sanders, attending. Union County Rescue, advise your paramedic to start another line and inject 5mg of Valium. Increase by another 5mg and repeat in fifteen minutes if the patient is still seizing. Do not let the dosage exceed 30mg. Do you copy?"

"Got it!" Amie responded with satisfaction. "He's stable. Now to take care of this one…"

The attending physician's voice was edged with impatience. "Union County Rescue, we can't help if we don't know what's going on. Give us a status on your other patients."

"A little busy here," Amie snarled as she checked the connections on the monitors and then began the process of reassessing Kathy's condition. She elbowed Evan and prompted him, "Never keep a doctor waiting. Give him the information he's asking for."

"Our second patient is a female adolescent, approximately fifteen years of age, with a double GSW, one through-and-through to the right shoulder and one to the right femur with no exit visible. She was conscious and responsive at the scene but arrested on us. Respirations are 26 and shallow; blood pressure is 100/70, pulse is tachy at 135. O2 sat is 95 with oxygen. She had decreased breath sounds in the left lung, absent in the right."

"That's likely a pneumothorax. Have your medic recheck the breath sounds and vitals. If she's stable, leave it alone until we can get to her."

Amie did as she had been instructed and pulled the stethoscope from her ears. She shook her head. "Not gonna happen," she said, moving quickly to one of the cabinets and grabbing a tray of supplies. "She's decompensating. Blood pressure is down to 90/50 pulse is up to 155, and breathing is agonal. She won't wait until we get there."

"Go ahead and do what needs done," came Dr. Sanders' voice over the radio. "We'll see you when you get here."

"Want me to pull over?" Cook asked.

"Nah, keep driving. I'll manage somehow."

"You haven't done many of these, have you?" The quiet voice belonged to the red headed Ranger. "Need a hand? I've only got one, but…."

"What would you know about it?" Amie demanded tersely as she fumbled with the equipment. The accelerated movement of the ambulance combined with the slick road conditions and poor visibility made the task that much more difficult. _The last thing I need is a patient telling me how to do my work! I don't care if he _is_ a Texas Ranger._ "You probably ought to stay out of the way."

Auguston flashed a sweet, sad little boy smile at her. "I was in a war. You learn these things, especially when the enemy has just taken out your medic. I _can _help."

"I'm sorry," Amie murmured. She'd assumed he had no idea what he was doing and was being gallant. "I could use the extra hand." _Better give him something to do, even if it's just a distraction._

"Do the needle decompression first," Auguston reminded her. "Otherwise you run the risk of---"

"Forcing air into the surrounding tissues," she finished with a tight smile. "Yeah, I know. Evan, hand me that needle decompression kit. I doubt Kathy'll wake, Ranger Auguston, but it might help to have someone who _isn't_ poking the crap out of her touching her in a reassuring manner."

He opened his mouth to protest, knowing perfectly well he'd been given a non-essential task which would keep him out of the paramedic's way while she worked. Just as quickly he decided arguing with Amie would waste time they didn't have and resigned himself to the role of comforter. _Pretty little thing_, he mused irrelevantly as he really looked at Kathy for the first time. Even unconscious, the strength evident in the wide high cheekbones and firm mouth appealed to him. _Shame she isn't older._ He tried to imagine the same face animated and alive with laughter. A hot blush swept over him and, hoping the young EMT hadn't noticed the change in vital signs, the Ranger curtailed that line of thought. _You know better than that. She's only a kid._ Auguston shifted his position so that he could reach her with his good arm and stroked the red-brown hair back from her forehead.

Kathy's eyes fluttered open. She couldn't see clearly but Auguston's red hair, haloed by the harsh interior lighting of the ambulance, stood out. "So…tired…" she managed. "Hard to breathe…don't leave me alone…" Kathy sighed and closed her eyes. A weak smile curved her lips upward. "My own Texas angel…"

"You'll be okay, sweetie," he murmured to her. "We're not gonna leave you alone. Walker's got your hand there and I'll be right here with you. I promise."

"She's out again," Evan said unnecessarily. "Vitals are still dropping."

"Tell me something I don't know," Amie muttered. _What is going on with this kid? Just where did that bullet end up? _Working rapidly, Amie found the anatomical references she needed and then inserted a large bore needle attached to a catheter. Her eyes widened when she saw the dark fluid collecting in the syringe. _Damnit. _ "There's blood in the chest cavity," she said. "I'll have to intubate her. Fluids wide open, Evan, and watch her vitals. Adjust the oxygen flow up to 100." She extended Kathy's neck and Auguston slipped his hand beneath her head, steadying it. "Good. Evan, give me the laryngoscope. Damn it, the battery on this thing is dead. I can't see a thing! If you could also hold the penlight?" Amie's hands were a little unsteady as she positioned the instrument. "Gotta watch her teeth," she muttered, "don't wanna break any of 'em…I'm in. Tube, please. All right, Ranger Auguston, you can let go. Cook, how far out are we from Holy Cross?"

"We just hit the main highway, deputy," the driver responded. "It's a straight shot to the hospital from here."

Holy Cross Hospital in Taos, New Mexico

It seemed to Amie, as she kept anxious watch over her patients' vitals, that it took an eternity before the ambulance pulled into the bay at Holy Cross. A lone nurse met them at the doors. She blinked in disbelief. "Where the hell is everyone? I told 'em we were coming in with two critical patients and one who needed closer examination."

"It's been a busy night," the nurse apologized as he helped Amie and Evan unload the gurneys. "There's been a massive pile-up just north of here on US 285. We're not really equipped to handle trauma but there's nowhere else to put them right now. What have you got?"

Amie told him. The man frowned and muttered, "Just what we need, two more priority traumas when they're already stacking up in the halls. All right. All right," the nurse said more loudly, composing into a more professional demeanor, "I'll find _somewhere_ to put them."

"You'll make sure they're seen by a physician?" Amie pressed.

The nurse didn't meet her eyes when he responded. "Someone will see them as soon as possible. Anyone with them?"

For some reason, Amie didn't particularly like the tone of the question. "No family, if that's what you mean. I…ah…think I'll stay nearby, if you don't mind. Please keep me informed of their conditions."

He made a conciliatory gesture and pointed toward the waiting room. "If that's what you want to do, deputy, I can't stop you. You don't need to come, I'll take your patients back."

"Th-that was j-just o-odd," Evan commented, coming up behind her. He thrust a cup of coffee into her hand and made himself as comfortable as possible in one of the hard plastic chairs. "Sh-shouldn't so-someone have told the a-attending we'd come in?"

"That's why we're sticking around for a while," Amie said, pursing her lips in disapproval. "Equipped for trauma or not, they ought to have an established protocol for these types of situations and they're _not_ following it. I want to make certain our guys get treated and sent on their way to Dallas."

"I-it was a tough run," Evan said. "Why d-don't you try to catch a nap? I-I can wake you if th-they come to tell us anything."

"I'm too tired to even argue about that," Amie agreed. She shifted herself into the least uncomfortable position, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes. About half an hour later, hesitant footsteps roused her out of a light doze. She looked up and saw a scared looking young nursing student approaching.

"Are you here with those Rangers?" she asked anxiously.

"We brought 'em in," Amie acknowledged. Something wrong?"

"They won't stay in their assigned bays!" the girl blurted, nearly in tears. "My supervisor's going to _kill_ me if I can't get them to settle down and stay where they belong."

_Sheesh…how old _is_ this poor kid? She's at least two years younger than I am, wonder what she's doing monitoring two complicated trauma cases…_ "Lawmen can be stubborn, and Rangers are the worst of the lot," Amie commented. "What exactly are they trying to do?"

"Well…they keep trying to get to that little Mustang Talker you brought in," she responded, biting her lip. "The older one's muttering something about her being afraid to be alone and the loud mouthed redhead keeps insisting she needs protected."

"And you're _letting_ them wander around in their conditions?" Amie blinked incredulously.

"I don't know _what_ I'm supposed to _do_!" the student wailed. "I'm not trained to handle cases like this and they won't listen to me."

Amie struggled to hold her tongue and, fed up with the situation, lost that battle. "For crying out loud, girl, get hold of yourself! It's not rocket science," she continued more calmly. "If they won't stay put, place them the same treatment room with her. Problem solved."

"Will you talk to them, try and persuade them to stay put? I don't think they're going to listen to me."

_Damn it. But this is probably the only way I can make sure they're getting medical attention. _"All right. Take me back to them and I'll see what I can do. C'mon, Evan, make yourself useful."

The corridor down which the nursing student took them was cold, dark, and quiet. Amie could tell by the worn, warped linoleum and the antiquated treatment bays that this part of the hospital was seldom used. Most of the bays, however, _were_ full. _So that nurse wasn't lying about the accident on the highway. _She sneaked a glance at some of the charts as they passed by and frowned. _These are all superficial or minor injuries requiring little care or monitoring. Why would they have put the two Rangers and Kathy back here? Unless…no, surely they wouldn't…_

She and the student nurse spotted the Rangers at the same time. Weakened and delirious though he was, Walker carried himself upright with the help of the young redhead. Both leaned precariously against a gurney in the hallway. "They're at it again!" the girl exclaimed. "Stubborn son of a---"

"Heard it before," Walker panted, grinning weakly. "Many times."

"Might as well be the Ranger's creed. You guys just don't quit, do you?" Amie commented wryly.

"Nope," Walker responded. "Can't stop a man in the right 'cause he just keeps on comin'."

Auguston at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "I told him to leave off, but he wouldn't listen. Besides, the girl shouldn't be by herself. It ain't right, her being so afraid and having no family and all."

The paramedic sighed, capitulating. "All right, you two, I'll take you to Kathy but then you _have _to stay put. Neither of you is in any condition to be wandering the halls. Where is she?" Amie demanded of the nursing student. Her voice conveyed impatience and disapproval. _She damned well better _not_ be among these incidental injuries. I already _know_ she's critical._

"Back toward the front. We _are_ monitoring her condition," she added defensively, "but you have to understand, we're stretched beyond the facility's capacity to handle patients and our own people have to come first. She's in there."

The room, while not as far from the nurse's station as the bays in which Walker and Auguston had been placed, was still half way back along the dimly lit corridor. It contained basic monitoring equipment and only a rudimentary cot upon which the patient had been laid. _I thought as much. _Amie resisted the urge to shake the nursing student. "This isn't acceptable," she told her tightly. "This patient is _critical_. I want to see an attending in here as soon as possible."

"I'm sorry," the nursing student responded, backing out of the room and retreating. "He'll get to your patients after he's taken care of the accident victims. I told you, our own people have to come first."

"At least give me access to your supplies so I can monitor her condition myself."

"I can't do that. I really am sorry, but I don't have that authority and no one who does will come right now." She was gone from the room before Amie could demand anything else.

"Well, th-this is a s-s-sorry st-state of affairs," Evan muttered, disgusted. "C'mon, Ranger," he said to the struggling Auguston, "let me help you with him."

Auguston grunted agreement because speaking would have taken more effort than he could spare. The room didn't have a second bed in it but it did have a low lying vinyl couch, probably intended as a comfort measure for waiting family members, against one wall. As the two men half carried Walker past Kathy's bed the older man's head snapped up. His eyes were still hazy with delirium and unfocused but he managed to push them both away and stagger to her bedside. "I have to stay with her," he insisted. His hands, white knuckled, tightly gripped the railing in an effort to hold himself upright. Walker's shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to his skin and he shivered in the drafty treatment bay. "I…gave my…word…"

"We're not going to let anyone separate you again, Ranger Walker," Amie assured him. She patted the end of the couch. "You can rest right here and still keep an eye on her." The gentle persuasion convinced him and, heaving an exhausted sigh, Walker sat down. His head sank forward until it rested on the pillow beside Kathy's. He still held tightly to her hand as though it were a lifeline for them both. _And it may well be, though I can't claim I understand the attachment._ "Let's check 'em, Evan," she ordered.

"Already on it," Evan replied absently. "Ranger Auguston, you're bleeding again. Sit down so I can take a look."

The young Ranger's face had gone pasty and small beads of sweat stood out on his lip. "I believe I _will_ sit down," he said, salvaging what dignity he could.

Evan's fingers were deft but gentle as he peeled back the soaked gauze. He searched his pockets, came up with a single sterile pad, and motioned for Auguston to hold it there with his good hand. The EMT's attitude was almost defiant as he exclaimed, "Th-there's nothing h-here I c-c-can f-fix this with and I d-doubt that nursing st-student will come b-back. I'm g-going out to the rig to get some of our own s-supplies."

Amie, busy attending to Walker, nodded. "Under the circumstances, I don't think we have a choice."

Evan, bristling with indignation, came back shortly with an armload of supplies and placed them on the counter. "Th-these _people_ tried to commandeer the rig's supplies. No, no need to go out there again." He put up a hand to forestall her exit. "The rig's secure and Cook made sure we can get back to it."

That peculiar phrasing _did_ make Amie stop what she was doing. "'Get back to it'," she echoed. She affixed her EMT with a daunting glare. "Is there something more I should know?"

Evan, however, wouldn't be baited. "Cook pulled the rig around to the rear of this wing of the clinic," he explained. "It's right at the end of this hall."

"Trouble?" Auguston, who had been trying to follow the conversation, asked.

"Nothing you're in any shape to handle," Amie snapped. "You're out of your jurisdiction and you don't have any authority with these people." She smiled tightly. "I don't like what they're doing here but I do understand the attitude. Chalk it up to a difference in cultures." Evan had finished cleaning the wound and gestured for the paramedic to examine his work. She swore something vile sounding in Navajo. "Auguston, you are _not _ to put any more stress on that shoulder. You'll cripple yourself." She took Evan aside and told him, more quietly, "The bones have torn the muscle all to hell. He can't lose any more blood. I could temporarily close it with a stitch or two…"

"Y-you kn-know h-how to do that?" Evan asked. "I didn't th-think th-that paramedics were allowed."

"I've sutured horses," Amie said tersely, "but we don't have a doctor present and he's gonna bleed to death if I leave it like that."

"Do it." Walker's voice was raspy and dry but his eyes were lucid as they locked with the paramedic's. "Do what you can for 'im. As his superior officer, I'll bear responsibility." He coughed and it was a few minutes before he could speak again. "You won't lose your license for saving his life. I'd do it myself if I could." He looked down at his shaking hands and silently cursed his debilitation.

"Don't get 'er in trouble for me, sir. I'll do." The weakness in Auguston's voice belayed his reassurances; he still clutched the gauze pad, already soaked through with bright red blood, which Evan had told him to hold against the wound.

That, combined with the older Ranger's insistence, decided her.

"All right." Evan had been right; suturing wasn't a task normally performed by paramedics and Amie couldn't find the supplies she needed among those brought from the rig. She rummaged through the drawers and cupboards until she found what she needed and tacked the wound closed with a few neat stitches. "Keep giving him fluids, Evan. We don't want him becoming hypovolemic." Amie turned her attention back to Walker. "What the…why did that" she uttered something dire sounding in Navajo "remove the friggin' IV line? Evan, see if you can get a new one started."

Evan tried and then Amie took over but the veins kept collapsing. Five minutes and numerous sticks later had Walker defensively clutching his arm and weakly trying to evade their efforts. "No more," he panted. "Leave me be, it's not gonna work…" Walker trailed off; Kathy's fingers had moved against his palm. It took him a moment to realize she was laboriously tracing a pattern into his hands. "What is it, sweetheart?" he whispered.

"She's intubated, Ranger," Amie said. _At least they didn't mess with _that_. Thank the Great Spirit a Mustang Talker shares revered status in their tribe as well. _"There's no way Kathy could be talking to you." She wondered if the man were delusional again and wished the hospital workers had not messed with the IV line. _If wishes were horses…._ She almost groaned aloud at the unintended pun.

"She's trying to tell me something," Walker insisted. "Those gestures…same ones her cousin used." He sighed in frustration. "Kathy, you know I can't read those!"

"Gestures?" Amie blinked and watched more closely. "Ah…she's using Navajo hand sign. Haven't seen it in a while, but I can read it." Walker glared blackly at her and Amie belatedly realized he was waiting for translation. "She says not to worry about her; she doesn't hurt so much now, although she's a little cold." That, at least, was understandable as the back rooms were drafty and the entire clinic seemed to be only a few degrees warmer than the temperature outside. "That I can do something about," she said. "No, Ranger Walker, she doesn't _want_ you taking your jacket off and giving it to her! Evan, go back out to the rig and bring back a few blankets…" Kathy signed something else which drew a short, surprised laugh from the paramedic and she looked at the younger Ranger. "She says I better not let anything happen to her Texas angel."

"We have more serious things of which to speak, Medicine Stone," Kathy signed. Slowly, though it clearly cost her considerable effort, she told the paramedic about Walker's illness and the treatments she'd administered. The last phrase, however, caused Amie's face to go blank with shock. "When I had nothing left, I set him upon the Nightways. We walk that path together now. You must keep him there, for both our sakes…."

Amie had stopped translating when it became apparent the message was for her alone. "That explains a lot," she responded in Navajo, her tone thoughtful. She gently stroked the little horse fetish she'd found with Ranger Walker. "I'll do my best, of course, but…" Amie blushed with embarrassment, her tone self depreciating. "You couldn't have chosen a poorer guide or guardian. It never occurred to me that the modern and the traditional could be complimentary. I'm afraid I viewed the time I spent with the medicine man as time wasted. I was more interested in modern methods of healing."

"You understand what's at stake," Kathy countered. "That's enough and it's more than most medical professionals could give."

"I'll try. That's all I can promise." She put the little fetish back in her pocket and tucked one of the blankets Evan had brought around her patient. "This ought to make you more comfortable at least." With a small sigh, Kathy closed her eyes. Her breathing remained labored but Amie didn't want to do anything else to her unless it was absolutely necessary. _I don't know how he's managed to remain as coherent as he appears to be._ _Where's that damned attending? _She was beginning to suspect that none of the hospital staff had bothered telling Dr. Sanders that they'd arrived.

Walker was delirious again; he kept muttering nearly incoherent instructions to someone, possibly his partner, who wasn't there and reacting to unseen gun battles. Those she didn't mind, as it was nothing less than what she would expect from a lawman, but the heart rending way in which he kept calling out for and apologizing to a woman named Alex damned near reduced the paramedic to tears.

"He loves her," the Mustang Talker signed, "but he's never managed to tell her that. Something always interferes --- cases, well meaning friends, a fight --- and the moment passes."

"I'm sure she knows," Amie replied absently. She was mentally running through the list of meager supplies at hand in hope of discovering something --- _short of a miracle_, she amended wryly --- she could use to bring the Ranger's temperature down and control the dehydration. _He's going to die…they both will…unless I can figure it out and get them away from this place._

"Don't bet on it," Kathy signed. Familiar as she was with the expressiveness of Navajo hand sign, it surprised Amie that such a wealth of bitterness could be wrung from a few gestures. She got the distinct impression that the girl was no longer speaking of Walker but of her own experiences when she signed, "If you don't tell someone what's in your heart, sooner or later the two of you run out of 'some day' and 'tomorrow'. That's _especially_ true for lawmen." She dropped a hand to Walker's head, gently stroking the sweat matted strands of reddish hair away from his forehead. The gesture seemed to soothe him, to drive away the ghosts. He quieted.

"Just like one of those wild mustangs," Amie murmured. She knew what that meant in terms of prognosis. Ranger Walker would fight for his life until all reserves were exhausted and then he'd struggle against death itself. Such creatures, human or animal, rarely survived the battle. "Damn him anyway!"

"Horses are less stubborn." Amie didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Kathy responded.

"If something is better than nothing at all," Auguston suggested, "you could try small amounts of an oral rehydration solution. We used something similar in the field to treat heat stroke and it could be made from simple ingredients found in a standard kit. It was tolerated well even by patients as severely compromised as Ranger Walker."

The pieces which Amie had been trying to put together in her tired brain suddenly snapped together. She hadn't made the connection because the ingredients, although common, weren't standard medical equipment…unless you chose to count a paramedic's breakfast. "That could work," Amie said after she'd thought it over. "Evan, please tell me this God forsaken place has a cafeteria."

"It does," he responded. "It's probably the one department which _is_ adequately stocked."

She picked up a prescription pad and wrote down a list of ingredients before tearing the slip off and handing it to her EMT. "It doesn't hurt to ask first, but feel free to 'liberate' what you need."

Evan grinned at her. "I d-don't th-think that will be necessary. The folk in the cafeteria at least are h-helpful."

It didn't take long for him to return with the requested items which, with Auguston's advice, Amie mixed up into an oral rehydration solution. Not trusting the reservation clinic's water supply, she used some of the distilled water Evan had brought from the rig earlier. She roused the patient with difficulty. "Just a few sips at a time, Ranger Walker," she encouraged him. Walker couldn't hold the cup; his hands shook too badly and his movements were uncoordinated. She held it for him. He seemed instinctively to know when he'd had enough. "All right, that's good. Let's see about making you more comfortable." Using a plastic basin she'd found in one of the cupboards, she filled it with more of the distilled water and used a moistened gauze pad to sponge the Ranger down. The water ought to have been tepid, not only a few degrees warmer than the frigid room, but it she didn't have means to heat it. She and the EMT took turns monitoring vitals.

For a while, the crude methods seemed to be working. Ranger Walker looked a little better and had even had a few lucid periods. "Fever's down to 103.7 and the skin is tenting less," Evan observed. "Still slightly tachy with fast, shallow respirations."

Walker stirred restlessly, murmuring in fitful sleep. Kathy, though clearly exhausted and looking much the worse for wear because of the delay in medical treatment, stroked his forehead. Voiceless because of the endotracheal tube, it was the only comfort she could offer him. Amie, vowing that if she managed to see the pair through this she would arrange to spend time more time with her mother's kin --- _and pay attention to the teachings of the medicine man this time_, she admonished herself ---- found herself humming one of the few fragments of the Nightways she could remember.

It acted as a palliative, nothing more. Both paramedic and Mustang Talker sensed the sudden, catastrophic turn for the worse in Walker's condition before it physically manifested. Amie had only seconds to switch the cadence to a binding note, hoping desperately it would be enough to shield Kathy from the worst of it so that the Ranger could not drag her down with him. "Ranger Walker, I know something's wrong. Can you tell me about it?"

The older man's eyes were lucid but shadowed with misery. Walker had throughout this illness exercised considerable control, learned as part of his martial arts experience, over his body. Those reserves were gone now, extended well past the amount of time considered safe to use them. He fought the rising tide of nausea and the onslaught of pain with everything he had left. _I will not…I CANNOT…lose control. My body is mine, I bend it to my will, my body mine… _"Not again. No, not again," he muttered and doubled over. Amie caught him and held him as Walker choked and retched.

"Oh, God," she swore. The last time he'd vomited, blood had only been present as a few dark flecks. This time, the blood changed before her eyes from a dark coffee ground consistency to bright red fluid. They were out of time. "Evan, I need you to go out there and find that attending. Tear the place apart if you have to but I want him brought back here." She hesitated before issuing her next order. "Make certain he's Caucasian. He'll be more likely to help if he doesn't belong to the pueblo."

When Evan returned with Dr. Sanders in tow, found his paramedic supervisor frantically working over both Ranger Walker and Kathy while the younger Ranger worriedly looked on and offered advice. "…no use, Amie," Ranger Auguston was saying. "You're not going to get a flash with his veins collapsed like that. He needs a central line---"

"And only a physician can put one in," Dr. Sanders finished for him. He wasn't at all what Amie had expected; instead of being a rugged older man one step above the classic sawbones of the West, as she had envisioned, she saw a harried looking young man no more than ten years her senior. "I'll take care of that while you give me the bullet, paramedic. Your EMT lad doesn't seem very seasoned; he couldn't tell me much, just said I needed to come with him right away."

"He'll settle in," Amie responded absently, "we're his first assignment." She gave him the patients' information and then watched as Dr. Sanders put the line into a large thoracic vein.

"Damned stubborn Indians," he muttered as he worked, "never bothered telling me you folks had come in and had me suturing superficial lacerations. Begging your pardon, Medic," he added belatedly.

"I'm not offended." The manner in which she pursed her lips suggested Amie agreed with him.

"I'll do what I can for them," Dr. Sanders assured her, "but I must work quickly. If I'm gone too long, someone will come for me. There could be trouble." He was as good as his word and in few moments had Walker's condition stabilized. "The trauma center will need to determine whether that's a GI bleed or another problem, but he shouldn't bleed out on you now. Just keep giving him saline or a dextrose solution if you have it. I'm afraid to give him any antibiotics without diagnostic tests because there's no way to tell whether the contaminants in the water were viral or bacterial but the compazine should keep him comfortable."

Kathy had been asleep until the doctor began examining her. The rustling sounds the latex gloves made combined with the antiseptic scent of Dr. Sanders' lab coat awakened long buried and unpleasant memories of her time spent at Cottonwood.

Those_ had been doctors whose licenses had been either suspended or under review for questionable ethical practices. In most places that would have kept them from ever seeing patients again, but patients in facilities like Cottonwood typically had no family to speak for them. Wilson Two Tree employed one such man. His name, ironically, had been Harold Carver. Dr. Carver's license had been suspended in the state of Colorado for inappropriate relationships with underage patients and he was being investigated for similar charges in the state of Oklahoma. Wilson allowed him to indulge in his fixation with the residents of Cottonwood._

_She'd only been six years old when she had first been brought to Cottonwood and an attendant had taken her to an exam room in the facility's small clinic. She'd already been stripped of her clothes and put through a decontamination process. Her long braids had been shorn and she'd been redressed in a shapeless jumper of nondescript grey-blue. It was then that Dr. Carver had placed the preliminary brand on her arm. That had hurt and he'd promised to make it better. He'd placed his hand on her thigh and then worked it beneath the jumper. She'd tried to scream but Dr. Carver had put his other hand over her mouth and then he was choking her…._

Kathy's eyes, shadowed with terror, snapped open. She tried to speak but found she couldn't; the endotracheal tube was still in the way. Her hands fluttered wildly as she attempted to fight Dr. Sanders off. "No, no, no!" she signed. "Don't touch me, please! I'm not property, that hurts, leave me alone, let me GO!"

"Calm her down before she hurts herself," Dr. Sanders snapped. "If she keeps thrashing around like that while I'm trying to put the chest tube in, I could nick an artery or puncture the lung entirely."

_What the hell happened to this poor kid?_ Auguston positioned himself so that Kathy could see his badge. _After all, it calmed her before. She seems to trust lawmen._ "Kathy. Kathy honey, listen to me. Dr. Sanders is trying to take care of your injuries; I promise I'm not going to let him hurt you. Here, hold onto this for me, would you?" Auguston unpinned his badge and placed it in her hand. That calmed her and she clung to his good hand. Her eyes pleaded with him to stay with her.

"I've done all I can with these limited resources at my disposal," Dr. Sanders said, "but I've got to get back. You really should get them out of here if you can, get them to a hospital equipped to handle their injuries. If you'll excuse me…?"

"Of course," Amie said graciously, "I don't know what else I can do," she said to Evan.

Walker, now that he was more comfortable, had regained consciousness. "Auguston," he rasped, "do you have your cell phone?"

Auguston blinked and then smacked himself in the forehead. "It's in my jacket pocket. I can't believe I didn't think of that!"

His superior officer nodded tiredly. "Call…Trivette…tell him to get the Ranger chopper in here. It should still be at the air strip in Clayton."

"I'll do that." A short whispered conversation later, Auguston snapped the phone closed. "It'll be a difficult landing, but Jimmy thinks the pilot can handle it. They're on their way."

Walker closed his eyes and relaxed a little. "Thank God," he murmured, "we're going home, back to Dallas."


	20. Hold On

**What Price Humanity? Chapter 20 – Hold On**

**Author's Note: **Rangerfan58 asked me why the characters weren't getting proper medical treatment in the last chapter. There are several reasons for this. Historically, the residents of New Mexico bear a grudge against the Texas Rangers both for their actions, admittedly despicable, against the Mexicans and Native Americans who lived there and because during the Civil War New Mexico remained Unionist while Texas was Confederate. It's an attitude which, in my experience, prevails even today and extends to law enforcement in general in some remote areas. Some of the Pueblo peoples are a bit reclusive; they dislike outsiders and will treat them accordingly. Finally, many of these remote areas have only rudimentary resources. It's unlikely that during the time period when this story was set that they would have had people trained to deal with trauma. They would likely have assessed the characters as beyond help and have concentrated on patients they considered more viable in order not to waste resources. The actions expressed in the story are an extreme, but I have encountered such incidents.

**o/ "**_At the crossroads I am standing  
So now you're sleeping peaceful  
I lie awake and pray  
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll  
See another day and we will praise it  
And love the light that brings a smile  
Across your face"_

**----- **"Hold On" performed by Sarah McLachlan

En Route to Dallas

The truck bucked under his hands and then jerked ahead with its engine roaring. "I don't think it likes me," he muttered. "Danged thing must have a mind of its own." His cell phone rang as he eased Walker's Dodge Ram onto US 287 toward the metroplex. He debated ignoring it for once in his life and then, sighing, fumbled the device open with fingers numbed by cold. _Geez, doesn't Walker believe in getting things fixed when they break? _ "Trivette. This had better be important."

"It's Auguston, Trivette." The young Ranger sounded weary; he spoke in a harsh whisper and Trivette could barely understand him. "Walker asked me to call you. We've encountered a…problem…up here."

Trivette's fatigue instantly vanished along with any other concerns other than his partner's well being; more alert now, he sat up straighter in the driver's seat. "Tell me what's going on. What do you need from me?" Auguston told him. "All right, buddy. You hang on for a minute and I'll set it up." He reached for the radio mike and got Company B's dispatcher. "'nita, I need you to patch me through to Hendricks up in Clayton."

"Will do, Ranger Trivette. Also" and the dispatcher's voice practically dripped irritation "would you _please _talk to Ms. Cahill and CD Parker. They've called here every hour for updates and I got nothing to give 'em."

He could easily imagine the annoyance his friends had created. "All right," Trivette chuckled, indulging in a much needed laugh. "I assure you, they're next on my list once I've taken care of this."

"I've got your patch, Ranger Trivette. Go ahead."

Hendricks' voice was gruff with worry when he came on the line. "Hope you've got news for me, Trivette. I ain't heard squat from my daughter since she took the rig over to Taos with your Rangers in it."

"She's okay," Trivette assured him, "but they've run into a bit of a situation requiring your help…" He quickly gave Hendricks the limited information he possessed and relayed Auguston's request.

"Yup, the chopper's still out on the pad at the airfield," Hendricks confirmed, "but the weather's still pretty bad and it's worse between here and Taos. Let me have a chat with your pilot and see if it's even possible." Just when Trivette thought his spine would turn to iron from the tension, Hendricks came back. "I've talked to your pilot." He whistled appreciatively. "That's one crazy bastard you guys got flyin' that bird!"

"Man, the suspense is killing me! Can he do it or not?" Jimmy pounced.

"Yes and no," Hendricks answered. "He's willing to try it, but they'll have to meet him on US 84. Considerin' what you told me about their situation, he's not comfortable landing the bird there. Fuel logistics pose a minor issue, but he _thinks_ he can get up there and back without needing to refuel or running the tanks dry." Hendricks sighed. "Those folks've got a long, hard ride ahead of 'em. Better hope the Lord Almighty is lookin' out for 'em."

Trivette forced a laugh. "They'll be all right. Sometimes I think Walker was born under a lucky star or something. I gotta go, Hendricks. I got a whole list of people who are going to be on my case if I don't let them know what's happening."

"You take care, Ranger," he closed the conversation, "and tell that daughter of mine to call in when she gets safely to Dallas."

After he'd spoken with Auguston to apprise him of the arrangements being made, he called CD's. He knew both of his friends would probably be waiting at the bar burning holes into the phone with their stares. He must have been right because CD picked it up on the first ring. "Lord, Jimmy, it took you long enough! I thought I'd turn into a mushroom, the way they're keeping us in the dark here."

"Well, Big Dog," he said slowly, "there's not much to tell. The bust was a rough one and Walker wasn't prepared for the weather. You know how hard he's been driving himself lately; it wore him down and he got sick," Trivette stated frankly. "We're not sure what happened between then and the time that the task force caught up with him. That's something only Walker can answer. It would seem" and he had deliberately saved this piece of information for last "that Walker might have died if it hadn't been for his prisoner. After the truck went off the road, he carried Walker for miles to find help."

Trivette could count on one hand with fingers left the number of times he had ever witnessed CD speechless; mentally, he added another to the tally. When CD finally spoke, his voice held bewilderment and respect. "Well, I'll be damned," he said. "You mean to tell me this guy had the chance to run for it…and didn't?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Trivette insisted. "He's not your average perp. When you meet him, you'll understand better."

"Meet him?" CD echoed.

"You're starting to sound like a broken record, Big Dog," Trivette joked. "Yeah, Walker gave me specific instructions regarding what should be done for him." His voice held a sober note. "They must want this kid back bad and they're willing to take out anyone standing in their way. There's some major money behind this operation when they can afford to buy off a DEA agent."

"Those idiot feds!" CD exploded. "They don't have the brains God gave a goose!"

"It's okay, CD," Trivette assured him. "The task force took him down and I booked him myself."

"Jimmy," CD said regretfully, "there's been a terrible mistake. They brought him in all right, but that feller started hollering for a lawyer and then for the Captain and the Governor. He talked himself out of the charges and they cut 'im loose."

"Damnit!" Trivette's fist struck the steering wheel in frustration. The truck, evidently not appreciating the abuse, surged as it began an incline. "I hate cruise control," he muttered. "I want to know exactly how it happened. If he's back out on the streets and acting in an official capacity, none of our witnesses are safe. Neither is Walker."

"Now, Jimmy," CD placated, "don't go gettin' all riled up. I may be old, but I ain't senile and I can still smell a rat. Soon's Lane got back we had ourselves a little conversation and he's trailin' himself a weasel as we speak. We'll get 'im, Jimmy, it's just gonna take time. Any other leads?"

"Nothing solid yet; Auguston was correlating some data for me and I need to check on the results. Walker gave me a few other leads to pursue, but it's nothing I want to talk about over an unsecured line. I promise I'll fill you in when I get back. Can I talk to Alex?"

"Jimmy!" Alex's voice was almost shrewish with anxiety. "How's Walker? How bad is it?"

"He was holding his own when I last saw him," Trivette soothed. He elected not to add to her worries by explaining the transportation issues and tried to downplay the need for medevac. "David took a round in the shoulder and the girl who saved Walker's life got caught in the crossfire. The nearest medical facility wasn't equipped to handle more than minor illnesses and injuries so they're being brought to Methodist in the Ranger chopper."

"My God, Jimmy." Alex sounded like she needed to sit down. "Were they badly hurt? Will David be all right?"

"We'll know more once the doctors have had a chance to look at them. David didn't look too bad, just tired, but the girl's in bad shape. Alex…this case is going to cause problems. Walker seems rather attached to her. I've never seen him behave that way with anyone else. He acted as though she was his own daughter."

"Well, at least he's capable of showing emotion for _something_," Alex muttered, miffed. She found herself irrationally jealous of anyone who could capture Walker's affections. She'd been trying so hard to build a romantic relationship with him and he'd practically gone out of his way to either insult her or otherwise push her away. The past few months, they'd barely spoken outside a professional context at all. She changed the subject. "I know," she told Trivette. "Walker told me a bit about the prisoner you're transporting when he asked to bring him back to Dallas."

Trivette glanced over at the big Navajo man sprawled in exhausted slumber across the passenger seat. "The man's a giant but he's not stupid. Walker was adamant about that, said you'd know what to do. We're to keep him out of the general prison population until this matter has been wrapped up, in protective custody if possible."

Alex's professional curiosity was piqued. She'd been under the impression that the man Walker had been transporting had committed a crime. Generally, only witnesses at risk were placed in protective custody. Still, she'd worked with the man long enough to know that second guessing the Ranger's instincts was generally a bad idea. "I'll see what I can do, Jimmy. How soon will you be here?"

He looked up, surprised at how much time had passed. "Um…I'm still on US 287 just outside of Bowie. Looks like it'll be a couple of hours before I make it back to Dallas. Why don't we meet at Methodist?"

"I'll see you then. And be careful!"

"I'm always careful," Trivette responded in an unconscious imitation of his partner and hung up the phone. The truck chose that moment to perform another of its accelerated surges on an incline. "The feeling's mutual, buddy," he muttered sourly. "Give me a Mustang any day. Man, I hate this truck!"

Methodist Hospital, two hours later

When Trivette arrived at Methodist, he parked Walker's truck in the garage and, reluctantly restraining an urge to kick the thing, and went to find CD and Alex. He was directed to a small semi-private waiting room off of the ER department. Alex sprang up off the couch as soon as he appeared in the doorway and rushed to envelop him in a hug. "Jimmy! I'm so glad you're back."

"Any word yet? They should be coming in any moment now."

CD stopped his pacing long enough to hand Trivette a cup of coffee and answer his question. "They're still a ways out. The pilot's worried they might not have enough fuel to reach the pad. He'll be all right, Cordell's lived through worse." His voice, trembling with suppressed emotion, lacked conviction.

Trivette took a sip of coffee; it was bitter, even for an institutional blend, and he set it aside. "Walker's always had incredible luck. Let's hope it holds out. "

The big Navajo tugged gently but insistently at his shirt sleeve to get his attention. Alex, seeing him, smiled a welcome to set the man at ease. "And who have we here, Jimmy?"

Belatedly, he realized he'd completely forgotten about the man Walker had released into his custody. "Oh. Ah…Alex, CD…this is Big John Quail, the man I told you about earlier. Walker said he's a distant relation to the girl. Have a seat, big guy," he told him.

"We're gonna be here a while."

Alex turned toward John and made sure he could see her lips and body language as she spoke. "It's all right," she said gently, "we don't bite."

John's defensive posture relaxed and he returned the smile. "Thank you," he rumbled in his disused baritone. His hands moved before him in a manner that projected his uncertainty even though none of them could read the gestures. Smiling depreciatingly and shrugging, he finally said, "My English…not good. But I try."

"It's good enough," she assured him. "You wait with us."

A palpable tension filled the room as they waited. For a while Alex patiently worked with John to teach him some rudimentary signs in American Sign Language. She stopped when she saw the big man trying to discretely suppress a yawn. They were both tired; patting him reassuringly and leaving him to curl up in one of the chairs, Alex retired to the couch with CD; the older man held the exhausted woman in his arms and murmured reassurances from time to time. Trivette, unable to sit still, stood at the door and tried to eavesdrop. Finally one of the nurses, not unkindly, told him to leave them alone and she would send someone to let them know when the helicopter came in.

"Oh, sit down, Jimmy," CD grumbled. "Pestering 'em isn't gonna land that bird safely or make it come in any earlier."

"I know, I know," he responded. He felt powerless; Trivette's normal response to trouble was to tear into it aggressively and force the data to come up with _something _which would save their skins or break the case. There was nothing he could do in this situation which would help.

Alex, understanding how Trivette felt, patted the cushion. "Come here, Jimmy. I'm sure they'll tell us as soon as they know anything."

Time passed so slowly it seemed an eternity before one of the desk nurses poked her head into their little alcove and said, relief in her voice, "They're bringing Ranger Walker and the others in now. As soon as they've been evaluated and treatment has begun, one of the doctors will be in to tell you more."

"Dagnabbit, Jimmy, get away from that door and let 'em do their work," CD said testily. He'd snapped at Walker's partner earlier for the frenetic pacing he'd been doing.

Ignoring CD's annoyed exclamation, Trivette glued himself to the doorway and listened anxiously. He hated not having all the facts, especially when they concerned people he cared about. As the medical team brought the gurneys into the treatment bays, he caught fragments of conversation.

"….pressure's dropping, get another liter of saline started or he won't be stable enough for surgery…."

"….vomited twice in the rig and once en route, diaphoretic and tachy at 130…."

"….can't see where all this blood is coming from.…"

"….gotta get this fever down…."

"Excuse me, please. Ranger Trivette, is it?" The soft, tired sounding voice belonged to a petite young woman with dark ringlets hanging lankly about her face. He vaguely recognized her as the paramedic who had treated his partners at the scene. His weary mind searched for a name and finally tagged her as the Clayton sheriff's daughter.

"Oh. Yeah, that's me," he responded. Sheepishly, he realized she couldn't enter the waiting room until he'd stepped aside. He did so and gestured for her to enter. "I didn't catch your name before. Things were a bit hectic back there."

"Amie Hendricks! Excuse me, honey," CD said to Alex and strode across the room to envelop the newcomer in a hug. "Why, last time I saw you, you were no taller 'n' a jackrabbit…"

"You _know _her?" Trivette asked incredulously. It seemed to him at times that CD "knew" everyone but he supposed that came of having served in law enforcement and with the Rangers for so long. After all, he'd been Walker's first partner.

"Know her?" CD snorted in indignation. "Why, I practically raised this little gal. Amie honey, come have a seat and tell us what you've been up to. You look 'bout dragged out." Answering the question Trivette had almost forgotten he'd asked, CD reminded him, "I told you the night we brought David in on this that Hendricks and I were old buddies. This here's his only daughter."

Amie didn't bother prompting the old man to use the correct name; experience had long since taught her that arguing with him about it wasted time and effort. _Might as well argue with the Sangre De Cristos. It has about as much impact_, she thought wryly. Instead she joined their little group and accepted the cup of coffee Alex offered her. "Thanks," she said, curling her fingers around it and savoring the warmth, "I think I need this."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Alex's face. "Don't thank me until you've tasted it. I think it was fresh sometime in the last decade or so." She held out a slender, manicured hand. "I'm Alex Cahill, by the way."

The coffee as every bit as bad as Alex had said it was and Amie too set it aside. "You'd be Walker's Alex, then," she mused.

"I'll just make a fresh pot," CD excused himself. He didn't want to be anywhere near the can of worms _that_ comment was likely to open.

"'Walker's Alex'?" the assistant district attorney repeated, bemused.

"You must be important to him," Amie said. "He asked for you. A lot."

"I wouldn't have thought so before now." Alex filed that statement away for contemplation later, along with a mental note to have a long discussion with Walker when he was feeling better, and changed the subject. "Will he be all right?"

"He'd do a lot better if he'd let others handle the situation," the paramedic responded wryly. The two women exchanged knowing glances. "The chopper glided in on fumes and Walker rallied himself enough to holler instructions at the pilot. I think we got him here in time, provided the doctors can identify the pathogen which is tearing him up and treat him for it." She shrugged. "That could be difficult, thanks to Belmonte Industries."

"What _about_ Belmonte Industries?" Trivette demanded. "Walker said something about looking into them for human trafficking but he didn't mention pathogens."

"It wouldn't surprise me that Belmonte Industries would be involved in that," Amie said sourly. "They already dump enough waste in the water tables; I suppose it's not much of a jump to creating human refuse."

"I'll want to talk more with you about that," Trivette said, his expression serious. "It could be related to a case we were working. David was crunching the data for me."

"Wilson Two Tree would be the one to start with," Amie replied. "He's well known in the Diné Nation." Trivette, nodding, wrote the name down on the small notebook he kept in his pocket.

"How _is_ David doing?" CD asked. "We were told the boy had been shot…"

"He'll make it," she responded slowly. "The wound itself wasn't catastrophic but he'd lost a lot of blood. I couldn't assess the structural damage, but I'm worried about whether or not he'll ever use that arm properly again. The collar bone was shattered."

"Oh, no," Alex gasped. "David's life is the Rangers. I don't know what he'll do if he can't…"

"He'll get through it," CD responded, speaking from experience, "and he'll find hisself something else worth dedicating his life too. "'sides, you oughta know by now, honey, that no one ever really _leaves_ the Rangers. We'll take care of 'im."

John Quail had awakened shortly after Amie appeared. He watched in frustration, trying to read lips, as conversation circulated around the room like wood smoke. Finally, when it seemed appropriate to interrupt, he caught Amie's eye and signed, "What about my cousin? You haven't mentioned anything about her…."

The paramedic could read the fear and distress evident on the big man's face and knew he had assumed the worst. Amie adjusted the position of her body so that he could easily read her lips and the hand gestures. "Kathy made it here safely," she signed as she spoke in their native language, "and she was conscious when we brought her in but she's in grave condition. The doctors here will do all they can."

"The Rangers?"

She patted him on the shoulder. "Walker's very sick and Auguston is badly hurt but they'll be okay eventually."

"Am I still under arrest or will they let me see her?"

"What?!" Amie shouted in English. "Why on earth is he under arrest?"

"Walker netted him at a major drug bust," Trivette explained, thinking, "but now I'm not so certain that was all there was to it. It's possible he could be a witness."

"That's still no guarantee he wouldn't have to serve time," Alex objected, turning professional. "That's one of the things Walker had asked _me_ to look at. The courts will probably insist that he serve some time, but I'll try my hardest to argue for probation due to his circumstances."

"If the man was indentured or a slave---" Trivette began.

Alex shook her head. "I'm sorry, Jimmy, but we don't have enough evidence to argue that in court. We'd need to catch those directly responsible and we're not even certain who is involved." She glanced anxiously toward the emergency room. "And with our witnesses hospitalized---"

If he could have, he would have been shouting. As it was, John Quail surprised them all with a flurry of angry signing. Amie translated. "He reminds you that he's deaf, not stupid, and could you please stop discussing him as though he weren't in the room."

"He's right, you know," Trivette commented. "Walker told me the same thing. Don't worry about anything, John. I'll do my best to clear you."

"And I'll make certain you have adequate representation," Alex promised.

"We have to hold on," John said, speaking slowly so he could form each syllable correctly, "for their sakes and for their own." Shrugging, he switched back to the Navajo hand sign with Amie translating. "Walker said it wouldn't be easy but he assured me that if anyone could make it happen you guys could."

"We're not licked yet." The new voice belonged to Lane Piedmont, one of the older Rangers and the man CD had requested keep surveillance on the DEA agent once he'd been released. "Agent LaFayette may have weaseled his way out of custody for now, but the two down in lock-up won't be as lucky." He paused, his demeanor that of a man who has good news. "There's a good possibility one of 'em is our bomber."

"I want in on that interrogation," Trivette declared fiercely. "I saw the damage he caused at Amarillo and he damn near killed Auguston and I at the first Mustang Talker ranch."

A look of intense pain and sorrow crossed John Quail's face but none of them had time to comfort him because a doctor in blood stained scrubs came into the room. "Hello, I'm Dr. Thomas Heiss." All were quiet as he asked the group, "You're here for the Rangers and that young'un brought in on the chopper? Are you _all_ family?"

CD, his arm protectively draped around Alex's shoulder, spoke for the group; the others closed in around him and Alex extended her hand to make certain the two Navajos were included. "We're as close to family as you're gonna get. Give it to us straight, doc."

The physician didn't argue the point; he'd already been told by other staff members that it would be this way. "Ranger Auguston has a shattered collar bone which could not be set with a closed reduction. He's on his way up to surgery, where they'll remove the bullet fragments and piece the bone back together. He'll be looking at several months' rehabilitation but he won't lose use of the arm. Ultrasound showed a small laceration to the upper lobe of the left lung but it doesn't need surgical intervention at this time. We're going to keep an eye on it and provide further treatment if it's needed.

"Ranger Walker's condition is serious but he's currently stable. He has pneumonia and a form of gastroenteritis likely caused by coming in contact with contaminated drinking water. We're waiting on labs to determine the exact strain of the pathogen so that we can give the appropriate antibiotics and I've called in an infectious disease specialist.

"We're most worried about the girl. The bullet struck her in the upper thigh at an angle, shattering the femur at the growth plate, and then ricocheted up into the abdomen and chest cavity. She'll need surgery to repair the damage to her lungs and we'll need to explore the abdomen to make certain none of the bullet fragments pierced any organs. One she's out of danger, we'll look at repairing the femur and reducing the fracture."

"When can we see them?" Alex asked.

"Auguston will be in surgery for at least two hours," Dr. Heiss responded. "You'll be able to see him once he's in recovery. We're waiting for a bed upstairs for Ranger Walker; you can see him briefly, one at a time. They're still working on the girl. You'd only be in the team's way. They'll be taking her up to surgery as soon as she's stable enough to be moved."

They would have swamped him with questions if a commotion in the emergency room hadn't distracted them. All of them heard the pitiful high pitched wail and what sounded like a small child sobbing. It was followed by a crash and Walker's angry voice shouting, "Let me go, I've got to get to her! She doesn't like being left alone!"

"If you'll excuse me," Dr. Heiss said, "I should assist the treatment team. It sounds as though Ranger Walker is being difficult."

"He's at it again," Amie sighed.

"I'll talk to him," Trivette stated.

Amie looked as though she were about to protest but CD said, "Let 'im come with you, gal. If'n anyone can talk some sense into 'im, Trivette can."

Trivette followed Dr. Heiss out into the emergency room. It wasn't difficult to figure out the source of the disturbance. Walker, trailing monitor leads and pulling an IV behind him, leaned against the doorway to one of the treatment bays while he tried to fend off the nurses and doctors. "Leave me be," he panted, "or someone's gonna get hurt. I have to stay with her…."

Dr. Heiss had a syringe in his hand; it was clear the he intended to sedate Walker while the other staff had him distracted. Trivette made eye contact and indicated "bad idea" with a small, negative shake of his head. "He means it," Trivette told them. "I wouldn't touch him if I were you. Hey, partner," he said softy. "You need to get back to bed, man. You're no good to her now in the shape you're in."

"Trivette?" Walker blinked, uncertain he could trust his eyes. He'd believed Trivette was with him before and it had only been fever dreams.

"Yeah, I'm right here, Walker." He kept his tone soft, coming closer and placing a hand on his partner's shoulder. "You need to get back to bed," he repeated. "Let the doctors take care of you."

"I can't." Only someone who knew him well would have heard the weary resolve in his voice. To his partner, it was obvious he wanted nothing more than to be able to let someone else take care of things. "I promised her, Trivette. Something terrible happened to her in that facility. Kathy's terrified of hospitals and doctors. I said…I said I'd stay with her. I owe her that."

"Just take it easy," he responded. "I'll take care of it. You go with the doctors and don't give them any trouble, okay? CD or Lane can stay with her. You have my word that she won't be left alone."

"If Ranger Walker can manage it, he ought to speak with her. She's still fighting the medical team and won't let us anywhere near her until he does," Dr. Heiss said.

Walker nodded. "Help me, Trivette." His partner hooked a supporting arm around his waist and the two of them went into the treatment bay. One of the nurses pulled up a chair so that Walker could sit beside the distressed girl.

"She can't speak," the doctor reminded Walker, "but she can still hear you."

Trivette stood behind him, a concerned look on his face, as Walker grasped the girl's hand tightly in his own. "Kathy, listen to me. You're safe here. You need to stop _struggling_ and let them do the surgery or you're going to die." Walker found the mere thought distressing and it wasn't the pneumonia which took his breath away. "If I can't be with you when you come out of surgery, one of the other Rangers will stay with you. You won't _be_ alone."

His words seemed to have had the desired impact. Some of the fear left her eyes and she quit worrying at the monitor leads. One pressing concern still gnawed at her. Knowing Walker couldn't understand the Navajo sign, she simply opened her other hand to reveal the badge, given to her by Auguston. "She wants to know about Auguston," he said.

"David will be fine," Trivette responded. "They took him up to surgery, just like they're going to take you. I'm sure he'll come see you as soon as he's able."

Trivette found himself staring at the inside of her forearm. _Those markings look familiar. I'd bet my entire stock portfolio that those match the brand on the toddler we brought in a few days ago. Walker said she and Big John Quail are related but Auguston didn't think those were tribal tattoos. If John has one also, it may be what we need to keep him from going to prison._ He filed that information away so that he could act on it later and wait to see what would happen next.

Neither of them needed to know her language in order to understand what she was trying to tell them. Kathy patted Walker's hand once and reached up to gently stroke his cheek. She knew Walker wouldn't leave until he was certain she'd calmed down. Her eyes begged Trivette: _you're his partner, make him let them take care of him._

"C'mon, Walker," Trivette encouraged, "let's get you back to bed so they can finish checking you over." Walker didn't resist as Trivette assisted the sick man back to his bed. A nurse helped Trivette get his partner back into the bed and the treatment team immediately converged on him. "I'll send Alex and CD back here as soon as they'll let you have visitors." Walker merely nodded; he'd used up what energy he had fulfilling his promises to Kathy.

Having arranged things to his satisfaction, Trivette returned to the waiting room. He held up a hand to still their questions and told them what had happened. "I'll go up with 'er," Lane volunteered, chewing thoughtfully on his mustache.

"I'll come with you," Amie said. "Since her family is gone and Ranger Walker is incapacitated, they may need someone to give consent for treatment and make other medical decisions."

The others, except for John, stared. Alex shook her head. "I don't think that will work, Amie. She's a minor without a legal guardian. FPS will have to be notified so that they can find a foster home for her. I've already called Melina in on this; she's on her way."

"Under any other circumstances, you'd be right. However, I'm invoking her rights under the Indian Child Welfare Act."

Alex chewed her lip as she tried to recall the content of those statutes. "I haven't studied family law since college," she admitted, "and my memory of the statutes concerning placement of Indian children is sketchy at best."

"Kathy's parents and extended family are deceased," Amie explained. "John Quail, as her only remaining blood kin, isn't able to assume guardianship because of the charges levied against him. In cases like these, the child's best interests are looked after by a tribal representative." She held up the little mustang fetish for Alex and the others to see. "She gave this to Walker and _he_ passed it on to me."

"The state of Texas will oppose the appointment of Ranger Walker as her guardian," Melina Gonzales said as she came in. "The dangerous nature of his profession and that fact that he's a single male would go against him in the courts. She needs a safe, stable environment."

"She needs a home in which her cultural heritage will be respected," Amie insisted. "Ranger Walker isn't Navajo, but he _is_ Indian and that would be more acceptable to the Diné Nation than a white foster home."

"_Half_ Indian," Mrs. Gonzales corrected. "There are group facilities---"

"If Walker's right about what that little gal's been through," Lane spoke up, "she won't do well there either. "Walker's place is the best one for 'er."

"Walker's a good man," Alex said, keeping her voice carefully neutral, "but I'm not sure I'd trust him with raising a young girl. Melina's got a point about the hazards of his profession and the man's a confirmed bachelor. He barely pays attention to his own needs sometimes; can we really expect Walker of all people to take adequate care of a child who will need rehabilitation and therapy for months or even years?"

"The men who came after them are still at large," Trivette interrupted. The directness of his gaze rested on the social worker. "Are you going to tell me that a foster home or group care facility will be better able to protect her?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Mrs. Gonzales admitted. "Her situation is more complex than I'd anticipated. Some of these options will have to be decided by the courts." She held up her hand to ward off Amie's protests. "Until then, I'll draw up the paperwork appointing you as guardian _ad litem_ responsible for medical decisions. The girl likely will not leave the hospital before living arrangements are decided but if that should happen, she'll _have_ to be remanded to a state holding facility. I'd see to it that Ranger Walker had visitation rights and as her tribal representative you would also have access."

A nurse interrupted their discussion. "The surgeons are ready for her and we're taking her up now. Ms. Cahill and Mr. Parker, Ranger Walker is asking for you. You can see him now, if you like."

"Go ahead," said Mrs. Gonzales when they hesitated. "This doesn't have to be solved tonight. I'll bring the paperwork by for you to sign tomorrow, Amie." She excused herself and left.

"Are you coming, Jimmy?" Alex asked.

Trivette shook his head. "I've already talked to him. I need to take John back to headquarters and then I'm going to see if the data Auguston was correlating turned anything up. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Let 'im go," CD advised when Alex would have detained him. "Jimmy needs to feel like he's doin' somethin' useful. C'mon, honey, let's go talk to Cordell."


	21. When Shadows Come to Call

**Chapter 21 – When the Shadows Come to Call**

"_Don't you worry, while you sleep_

_All my love is yours to keep_

_All you wish for, all you know_

_Will be yours when you let go_

_You can let go"_

**----- **"I Will Take Care of You" performed by the Bangles

Methodist Hospital ICU, early morning

They'd moved Walker up to a private room by the time CD and Alex were taken to see him. The corridors of the hospital were cool and quiet this time of night; their footsteps on the polished linoleum echoed in eerie counterpoint to the muffled sounds of medical equipment and the occasional sigh or moan. The whole place felt somber, devoid of life, and smelled of illness even with the pervasive scent of antiseptic in the air. _Not a place in which I would ever expect to find Walker_._ He hates hospitals so much_. _ Why do they keep these places so cold?_ Alex shivered and CD put a comforting arm around her.

"C'mon, honey," he encouraged her. His own voice broke with the effort of controlling his emotions. "We don't want to lose it now. Cordell's strong and he'll come out of this just fine."

"What if he doesn't?" Alex, angry with herself for breaking down so easily, wiped the tears with her sweater sleeve. "It…it's not like the other times…" The other times they had had something --- a deposition, a case needing preparation, a search for the perpetrator --- to keep them busy and keep their minds from dwelling too long on the circumstances. _No wonder Jimmy decided to go back to the office and pursue the case they were working on._ Right now they had nothing but time in which to think and to worry. _A pathogen isn't something you can fight with the law. I don't know what I'd do without him!_ Alex found the thought of never again having Cordell Walker in her life more disturbing than she'd expected.

Dr. Heiss had stopped at a door just off the nurse's station. "Don't expect him to talk coherently," he warned. "He's in and out of it; he may not even know you're there."

"Go and see him, honey," CD said. "I'll wait here a moment, let you talk in private." Alex went in and CD pulled Dr. Heiss aside where they wouldn't be overheard. "How's Cordell really doing?"

"Right now it's a waiting game. We've got him on IV fluids for the dehydration and he's being transfused for blood loss. He's been given some medication which may reduce the fever over time. Ranger Walker does have pneumonia and he's on oxygen to help with his breathing. When the advance labs from infectious disease come back, we'll know more and can begin a more aggressive treatment."

"He'll pull through then."

"We don't know that," Dr. Heiss said, shaking his head. "Ranger Walker's case is atypical. These types of pathogens don't normally cause this much distress in a healthy man. Did Ranger Walker have any medical problems of which we were unaware?"

"Cordell's as healthy as a horse," CD responded stoutly. "He's had a few bumps and breaks, been shot a time or two --- it comes with the territory, you know --- but he's never been sick in his life."

"Does he drink? Do drugs?" Dr. Heiss pressed.

CD looked offended for a moment and then realized the doctor couldn't possibly know about Walker's strong sense of morals the way his friends did. "Not unless you count coffee. I don't think I've seen him take a drink more 'n' a handful of times. As for the drugs…Cordell wouldn't. He's seen too much of what it'll do to a man."

Dr. Heiss nodded and shrugged apologetically. "About what I'd expected, but I had to ask."

"I know you did, son," said CD, relenting. "We do appreciate all you're doin' for him."

"I'm expected up in surgery," Dr. Heiss said, shaking hands. "The staff knows to call me if you have questions they can't answer or there are further developments. Someone will let you know about Ranger Auguston and the girl."

It took CD a while to compose himself before he found the courage to enter the room. He stood quietly beside Alex, each of them trying to reconcile what they were seeing with the man they knew and loved.

Though not a large man, Walker had always possessed an unbridled vitality combined with quiet confidence which made his presence dominate anywhere he went. CD had seen hardened lawbreakers crawl meekly up into the back of the Ram because Walker had quelled them with a stern look. Once in a while one of them, overestimating the Ranger's slight frame and equating it with weakness, would press his luck and come in swinging. Those engagements usually ended quickly and decisively in Walker's favor.

Walker applied the same reckless _joie de vivre _evident in his occupation to his recreational activities, whether it was fishing or riding horses. He kept a modest profile, never seeking attention for himself, but people gravitated toward him. Some of the best nights at the bar and grill had been spent with Walker at the center of a group of officers from the various law enforcement agencies and their families while they shared some of their more interesting stories.

Whatever it was which made Walker important to them all wasn't completely gone but it had been dreadfully muted. With his eyes closed and that hair tousled on the pillow Walker looked vulnerable, almost fragile, and much younger than his age. The cotton hospital gown with some sort of faded geometric pattern on it seemed incongruous on a man more accustomed to wearing denims, boots, and a Stetson.

"Your hair wants cutting, boy," CD said quietly. He sighed and awkwardly gripped Walker's shoulder in a rough gesture of affection. "You…you do what them doctors and nurses tell you, hear? Don't give 'em no trouble and you'll be out of here in no time at all."

"Where are you off to?" Alex asked.

"I've got to go feed Cordell's horses soon," he explained. "I'll just pick get a few things for him from the ranch while I'm there. I s'pose Mabel can handle the restaurant for a few days but she'll gum things up proper if'n I don't leave her instructions. You stay right here, honey, and sit with him a bit. I'll be back when I can."

"It's Saturday anyway. No one at the office will be looking for me for a while yet." She sat down on the bed beside him, took one of his hands in hers, and studied it.

Blunt and brown, those hands which could knock out a felon with a single blow ---could even _kill_ if Walker found himself sufficiently provoked --- could also be incredibly gentle. Alex had watched those hands calming a nervous horse, soothing a frightened child, had even felt those hands express affection during an unguarded moment. There were fewer of those moments than she would have liked; something always seemed to interrupt them and the impenetrable walls he'd built around himself went back up.

Walker stirred restlessly and groaned. He was sweating heavily from the fever and his hair had fallen forward across his eyes. Alex leaned forward and brushed the errant strands away with her fingers. The gesture became a caress which traced its way down his face and along the jaw line. Her touch seemed to comfort him. Walker nuzzled into her hand and relaxed with a soft sigh. She smiled tenderly and held it there against his face.

His voice, raspy and raw, startled her but it _was_ Walker's. "Alex? Is that really you? Or is it just another dream?"

"It's not a dream," she reassured him. "I'm right here and I'm going to stay with you." A tear fell to the blankets, leaving a dark spot, and was followed by another. Irritated, she wiped them away again with the sleeve of her sweater.

His grip felt reassuringly strong as Walker captured her hand in his. "Don't cry, Alex. You know I don't like to see you cry."

"Sorry." She sniffled. "I…I can't seem to _stop_ crying today." Do you…do you need anything? Can I get something for you?"

"I'm cold," he said.

The blanket and sheets were folded back neatly at his waist; Alex pulled them up around his shoulders and then spread another blanket she'd found folded at the foot of the bed over him. "There, that ought to help."

"I…I don't feel right." As long as Alex had known him, Walker had never admitted anything like that before. The last time she'd dared to suggest he didn't look well, Walker had thoroughly chewed her out in front of everyone at CD's. He sounded lost and uncertain, like a small frightened boy.

She slid up beside him and let him rest his head against her shoulder. "I know you don't," she whispered, stroking his hair. "Just try to rest, sleep if you can."

"Alex…what about Auguston?"

"He's having surgery to repair his collar bone. He'll be all right, but he's looking at desk duty for a while."

"How's Kathy doing?"

"They're doing the best they can but she was hurt pretty badly. Lane went up with her so she won't be alone."

"Where's Trivette?"

"He took John Quail down to headquarters with him; he said he was going to compare some of the leads you gave him with data Auguston was running." Alex put her finger to his lips. "No more questions now. I mean it! I want you to rest, cowboy."

Walker allowed himself to relax now that he knew Trivette had carried out his orders. Having Alex by his side like this felt good; he drifted off toward sleep. They lay together like that for a while, neither speaking, until Alex's sleepy voice broke the silence. "Walker? What is she to you? Why do you care so much what happens to her?"

"She's my life," he responded simply.

"What _are_ you talking about?" she asked, wondering if he were delirious.

"I'm sorry, Alex, I can't explain it to _you_ any better than that. You wouldn't understand." She recognized from his tone of voice that Walker _wouldn't_ explain further; it was the same flat voice he used when turning aside queries about his Cherokee heritage. It conveyed politely but firmly: _This is an Indian matter. Pursue it no further_. Alex knew better than to ask more questions.

"I hope you know what you've gotten into," she said.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "I owe it to her."

Methodist Hospital Surgical Floor, early morning

In a mistaken attempt to make the trip up to the surgical floor less frightening, someone had gotten the bright idea to decorate with ceiling tiles painted by children on the cancer ward. Brightly painted rainbows and smiling stick figures aside, they irritated Lane and he didn't think many of the patients found much comfort in them either.

At the admissions desk, there was some sort of argument between the clerk and the orderlies who had brought Kathy's gurney up. The tension agitated her and she clutched Lane's hand more tightly. She hadn't let go since Trivette had introduced them. He squeezed back reassuringly and stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. "Pay it no mind, sweetheart. They're squabblin' about shift changes, I think. If we could wind this up?" he said testily, clearing his throat. "You're scarin' the poor gal to death!"

The charge nurse, hearing the commotion, came up to them. "Is there a problem here?" she demanded, glaring at the orderlies and the clerk.

"You could say that," Lane commented dryly. "Your staff here is arguin' 'bout who's gonna get stuck with the kid and the poor thing's terrified of bein' left alone."

"I'll take care of it," the charge nurse said through pursed lips. After a few terse words with the clerk and the orderlies, she dismissed them. "I apologize on behalf of my staff. They've apparently forgotten their manners."

"'s all right, ma'am," the old Ranger assured her.

"I'll take care of her myself. You don't have anything to worry about," she told Kathy. "We'll take good care of you and you won't be left alone for even a minute. One of you may stay with her until the surgery but the other will have to wait in the lounge. It's right around the corner."

"I'll wait," Amie promptly volunteered. She grinned, unable to resist teasing the somber old Ranger. "Our little Mustang Talker seems to have a thing for Rangers!"

"Wh…eh…er….no, that's nonsense!" Lane blustered, his face suffused with red all the way to the roots of his iron grey hair. He rummaged in his pocket and thrust a handful of bills into Amie's hand. "Do me a favor, missy, and see if you can find a little somethin' in the gift shop to keep her company through the surgery."

"It ought to be open by now," the charge nurse volunteered. "Take that corridor down to the elevators and go all the way to the first floor. Come with me, Ranger, and will get this little gal settled."

She gave instructions to a new set of orderlies and they wheeled her into the pre-op area. Dark, quiet, and cool, it was divided into treatment bays with privacy curtains. Lane pulled up a wheeled stainless steel stool and crouched at Kathy's bedside holding tightly to her hand. A sense of sleepy timelessness permeated the area, punctuated only by the low murmur of doctors in consultation and the occasional groan of a patient or whisper of a monitor, and Lane found himself dozing off. He had no idea how long he'd been napping when the rustling of the curtain as it was pushed aside disturbed him. A doctor, this one female, stood at the foot of the gurney. She looked a little foolish with that horse plush in her arms.

"The paramedic out in the lounge asked me to bring it in to you," she explained, setting it on the bed and extending her hand. "I'm Kathy's anesthesiologist. I'm here to prepare her for surgery and I'll be monitoring her during the procedure. You can only stay with her until she goes under."

Kathy's hand tightened on Lane's and her eyes blinked furiously as she tried to convey her panic: _You promised, you promised! Don't leave me alone._ The doctor stepped away. "I'll just give you two a moment."

Lane continued stroking her hand with his thumb and made eye contact. He kept his voice soothing but firm. "Kathy darlin', you know they're not gonna let a dirty ole goat like me into their nice clean operatin' suite." He placed the stuffed horse beside her. "This here pony'll have to stand in for me. If you'll let go of Auguston's badge for a moment, I'll make 'im an official Ranger." Her other hand uncurled around the badge; he took it and pinned it to the ribbon around the horse's neck before tucking the whole thing beside her. "There, now he can do anythin' I would, even if I'm not with you. You be a good gal and listen to what the doc tells you, okay?" Kathy nodded bravely and he said to the anesthesiologist, "She'll be okay now. You can do what you need to do."

"I'm going to inject some medication to make you sleepy," the anesthesiologist told her as she did so, "and then there'll be a second injection to make sure you stay asleep. When you wake up, you'll still have the tubes in but we ought to be able to take them out soon."

Lane watched, murmuring soothing nonsense words, as Kathy struggled against the sedative. Her eyes rolled frantically, silently pleading for something he couldn't quite understand. "It'll be all right," he said softly, still stroking her hand. "You can let go."

His words seemed to be what she needed; the long dark lashes closed once, twice over hazel eyes grown cloudy and distant and then remained closed. Her hand in Lane's relaxed, went limp.

"She's out," the anesthesiologist said. "I'll take her up now and you can wait in the lounge. Someone will come get you when she's in recovery."

"Bye, darlin'," Lane said to Kathy, in case she could still hear. "I'll be waitin', just like I promised." Wondering just what it was about this one --- of all people --- that had gotten under Cordell Walker's skin, he dropped a grandfatherly kiss on the sleeping girl's forehead and left. _Might as well be honest with myself. She's gotten under _my _ skin too._

Company B Ranger Headquarters Dallas, Texas – early morning

Trivette drove Walker's Ram back to headquarters. He had debated turning it over to CD and asking for his own car back but decided the big Navajo might be more comfortable in the larger vehicle. They'd walked out to the truck and a flabbergasted Trivette had watched as John lowered the tailgate, climbed into the pickup bed, and sat hunched against the cab waiting for him to fasten the handcuffs to the roll bars.

_I gotta talk to Walker about that little habit of his._ Trivette opened the door on the passenger's side and then touched John's arm to get his attention. He made certain John could see his lip movements as he spoke. "Go on, get in. You're not under arrest. It's too cold for you back there anyway."

"Okay." John's disused baritone stumbled over the unfamiliar syllables. He frowned, uncertain he'd gotten the right word. Trivette smiled reassuringly and John clambered awkwardly over the side of the pickup. When he'd settled himself in the passenger's seat, Trivette had started the engine and they left.

This time of night headquarters was usually empty. Anyone who could arrange it had already gone home to bed. Trivette envied them but he knew if he went home to his apartment, he would only lie awake until it was time to go to work. The door was locked but a light shone through the frosted glass. Wondering who else would be around at this hour, Trivette let himself in.

Captain Briscoe perched on the corner of Trivette's desk.

"What are you doing here? Sir," Trivette added belatedly, his forced tone barely concealing the wealth of anger and frustration surging through him.

Briscoe uncrossed his arms and held up one hand in a placating gesture. "Don't shoot the messenger, son. I think you might want to hear what I have to say."

"So talk." Something small and silver sailed toward him and Trivette automatically snatched it out of the air. He examined the object in his hands: a computer key.

"Call it a good will gesture. Your computer privileges have been restored. You'll need them if you're going to work Auguston's case."

"Sir? I thought ---"

"Sergeant Trivette, I never _did_ think you embezzled that evidence. A man has to obey his own judgment on occasion. I'll take a look at Walker's notes, see if I can come up with anything while he's laid up."

Trivette knew it was as close to an apology as he would ever receive from the Captain. "Thank you, sir! That means a lot, coming from you."

"How's Walker doing?" he asked as Trivette sat down at his desk, unlocked the station, and waited for the computer to boot up.

"They were still trying to stabilize him when I left. He…he didn't look good, said he was tired. Walker's never tired!" he responded as he entered his password. The pleasure Trivette normally felt when working with computers ebbed away.

"Damned shame," Briscoe remarked and meant it. He knew all too well what Trivette's guarded expression was really saying. "Walker's a good man." The Captain jerked his head toward Big John Quail. "Did Walker tell you what to do with _him_?"

"Walker didn't think the kid was voluntarily involved with the drug cartel. He suggested protective custody. I'd go with one of Walker's hunches any day." Trivette sighed and watched data begin streaming across the screen. "If what Walker told me is right, we're dealing with some big players here."

Briscoe raised an eyebrow. "_How_ big, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Ever heard of Belmonte Industries?"

The Captain whistled. "Everybody in the metroplex has heard of Adrian Belmonte. He's one of the most influential people in Dallas --- philanthropist, developer, big contributor to the public schools and community recovery efforts. From time to time we get tips or hear rumors, but our investigations were never able to tie him to anything. He's squeaky clean as far as law enforcement is concerned and he's got powerful friends."

"Well, he didn't get away clean this time," Trivette stated with certainty. "Those two in detention will be ready to sing like canaries by tomorrow. We already know they committed the bombings. Walker seemed to think that John's testimony will connect them to Belmonte Industries. And that weasel of a DEA agent---"

"I'm not going to be able to hold off LaFayette much longer." Briscoe grimaced. "He was very insistent and it's only a matter of time before the courts rule in his favor and he gains jurisdiction over our prisoner."

"LaFayette's involved in this somehow," Trivette insisted. "I _saw_ him shoot Auguston and the girl Walker had with him. It wasn't an accident."

"LayFayette claims Auguston froze and the gun accidentally discharged. Given Auguston's record ---" Briscoe began skeptically.

"A lot happened in a short time," Trivette admitted, "but I was _there_. I know what I saw. Auguston got a raw deal up at Company E; Boyd Hochreiter's death wasn't his fault."

"I heard he's gun shy, couldn't pull the trigger when the need arose."

"You heard wrong." Trivette's voice dripped bitterness and venom. "All due respect, sir, but someone at DPS ought to look into Company E's policies. Auguston was the victim of a nasty hazing prank and Boyd ended up paying for it. Auguston's a good officer…or he will be, if he's given half a chance."

Taken aback, Briscoe could only nod. "I'll look into it." He rose to leave. "Get to work, Trivette, and get us something we can work with. I want these guys. I want them all. Until Auguston recovers enough for desk duty, Lane or CD can help you out. I don't want you in the field without at least one of them there. I took the liberty of making a fresh pot of coffee," he called over his shoulder and paused, hand on the door knob. "Just make sure the charges stick with those yahoos you brought in and find the ones who ordered the Amarillo hit. I don't care what hornets' nests you have to kick over, just get it done."

John Quail looked questioningly at Trivette after the Captain left. "Everything's taken care of," Trivette told him, "but we haven't got much time. This could take a while, sit down and get comfortable."

Trivette returned to scrutinizing the data being generated on his computer screen. He'd already read over the files summarizing their findings to date; the information in this data set independently confirmed Auguston's original suspicion that the bars, angles, and hashes on the abandoned child's arm were the same as those used by the government to mark culled horses. Printing off a copy of the pictures the social worker had provided to them with, he finished the task Auguston had begun of translating the marks. For the moment, he ignored the initiating character which Auguston had said might be a company logo. When he had finished tracing and deciphering, he had:

└ ┘└v.┘║.

└ ┘ v ┌┌┘

The first three characters in the sequence were exactly the same and both marks shared the same spacing. "I'll bet Auguston was right and that first sequence _is_ a birth year," Trivette muttered. "Assuming the other strings are origin and destination codes, it should be a simple matter for that program he started to run the zip codes. What about that middle character, though?"

He became aware that John Quail, who had been watching over the Ranger's shoulder with an expression of interest on his face, had been trying to get his attention. "Not now, John," Trivette said irritably. "I've got to figure this out so we can finally get a lead on this case." Frustrated and determined to be heard, John reached for a yellow legal pad and pencil in front of Trivette. "Hey!" he yelped and trailed off as he stared at the big Navajo's forearm. It had, the Ranger realized, a tattoo similar to the markings he'd been studying. "Hold it, can I take a look?"

John nodded eagerly and then pointed again to the legal pad. "I can write," he offered, "in English."

"Yeah," said Trivette thoughtfully as he gave the pen and paper to him, "you do that for me, John. Anything you've told Walker, you can tell me." While John dutifully began writing out his statement in block print, Trivette rummaged around the office until he found the camera they used for photographing evidence and took a snapshot of John's tattoo. The angles and lines bore little resemblance --- _different locations and acquisition dates?_ --- to the other two examples but shared a logo, the one Auguston had noted looked like a triple mountain peak inside a bell framed within an "I".

"Find the logo, find the culprit," he said with satisfaction as he scanned his tracing into the computer and set a program to run comparisons against known brands and company trademarks. He'd just completed that task when his computer chimed with an e-mail notification. Wondering who could possibly be contacting him at this hour, Trivette opened the message:

**From: Sheriff Bob Hendricks**

**To: Ranger James Trivette**

**Subject: Kiowa Grasslands Case**

**The attached photographs were found on a digital camera in the saddlebags of the horse Sergeant Walker was riding. I expect they may be connected to your case. Hope you've got a cast iron stomach; you'll need it. Good luck!**

Trivette managed to look at only two of the photographs before, revolted by what he'd seen, he saved them to a secure file and closed the message. He looked at John with new respect and compassion in his eyes. "You sure have had it rough, buddy. If only I had more information on those brands…"

His computer chimed again; Auguston's program had finished running its zip code comparisons. "Hmmm, one of these is a zip code for a town in the Navajo Nation called Whitehorse Lake, New Mexico. This other one is local." Trivette tapped out another inquiry. "Deep Ellum, eh? Let's cross reference that with the logos. That ought to narrow down the possible culprits."

With nothing further to be done until the computer had correlated the results, Trivette read though the files regarding the abandoned child. He nodded in satisfaction when he saw that she had been placed with a Ranger family. The language she spoke, as Auguston had guessed, had been positively identified as Navajo. _That makes sense, considering the zip code data, if they're taking these people off of their reservations. Wonder if anyone else has come across this? If the perps have been doing this a while…_

Trivette flexed his fingers and then requested a database search for cases with similarities. It didn't take long for the computer to find a match. "Hey, this is a fresh case…" There wasn't much in the report, which stated that the body of a Hispanic female had been found in a dumpster on North Crodus behind a strip club known as the French Connection. However, both the crime scene technicians and the medical examiner had photographed an odd series of marks, described as "tribal tattoos" on the inside of her arm. Both also noted that the victim's hair had been shorn but additional marks were visible on the scalp.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" He didn't need to translate the new marks; he could tell at a glance that the scalp tattoo was the same originating zip code as the one found on the abandoned girl. What Trivette _didn't_ expect, however, was for the second set of brand marks to match. "I'd call _that_ collaboration," he said with satisfaction. Humming Madonna's _You Must Be My Lucky Star_, he asked the computer to cross reference the logo marks with businesses within a ten mile radius of the location of the victim's body. On intuition, he also tapped a query into the DPS database regarding photographs of similar tattoos. "Very interesting," he muttered. Several more of the brands had been photographed as part of a new program attempting to catalog probable gang identifications. He pulled the files for those prisoners and discovered that many of them --- _too danged many for coincidence ---_ had recently met with apparent accidents…and that each prisoner had been requested for reassignment to federal jurisdiction by DEA Agent LaFayette.

_Someone with enough money and power to buy off a federal agent is trying to cover their tracks. It's not enough to tie Adrian Belmonte to this…yet_._ But with any luck, it should get me to someone who_ can_ lead me to him. _Trivette tipped back his chair and laced his fingers behind his head as he thought about the facts his investigation had revealed. "Well, I think we've got enough to keep you from being sent up the river," he said aloud to John Quail. "With a good judge, you might not serve time at all." The big Navajo didn't respond; he had fallen asleep in the chair.

The final database search seemed to take forever but came up with a partial match for one of the logos: the carousel silhouette belonged to a nightclub in Deep Ellum called the Painted Pony Carousel Lounge. The other, the one Auguston had noted, matched exactly to Belmonte Industries. "That doesn't prove _anything_," Trivette groaned. "It won't hold up in court. I need to find evidence that Belmonte Industries originated these brands and a connection between them and the Cottonwood facility." He dug through the city's property records until he found what he needed: the strip club was held by a shell corporation which traced back to Belmonte Industries and listed Adrian Belmonte as the main shareholder. He also sat on the board of trustees for the Cottonwood facility and had been one of the founders. "That, my friend," he said with satisfaction, "is what we call collaboration!" Trivette put a light hand on John Quail's shoulder. The poor man started awake and shied from the touch, eyes wild and searching for escape until he realized his surroundings. "C'mon, man," said Trivette, "let's get back to the hospital. We need to get you checked out and I need to tell Alex to start processing warrants. We ought to have news on your cousin as well."

"All right," John said in English.

Dawn had just begun to brush the sky with rose and gold when the two of them walked to the parking garage. Trivette started the Ram and the two of them headed for Methodist Hospital.

One block away, in an unmarked van

Wilson Two Tree pulled the earpiece out and swore. He'd given the two now in custody their instructions before they had been apprehended. They'd easily been able to plant the small listening devices around the office as they'd been processed. Wilson himself had placed a tracking device on the Ram and had dropped another of the eavesdroppers in an upholstery seam. That had allowed him to keep track of their movements and to learn what the Rangers' next move would likely be. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on the tenacity of Walker's partner and he'd underestimated the man's computer abilities.

_It's sheer luck that he figured out the zip code branding, but he wouldn't have gotten that close if it hadn't been for that boneheaded Lopez._ He knew that Claudio had probably been the one to kill Jacinta as a means to cut his losses but Lopez's behavior would have made the action necessary. _I warned Mr. Belmonte that Lopez was a poor choice for that position._

Adrian Belmonte had listened politely to Wilson's objections and then dismissed them. "I have my reasons," he said to his second in a gently chiding manner. "It disappoints me, Wilson, that you have so little faith in my business acuity." He'd taken a sip of cognac and then continued, "Consider it an act of reciprocation between organizations." Wilson knew then that his boss had placed a spy of his own in whatever cartel had loaned him Lopez.

_All well and good but Mr. Belmonte's not going to like what it's cost him._ Wilson couldn't do anything about the loss of assets but with a little help, he _could_ make certain that the paper trail didn't lead back to Belmonte Industries. He placed a discrete phone call to a certain computer hacker….


End file.
